


To Define Suffering

by fuzipenguin



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Cowgirl Position, Darkfic, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Fisting, Forced Orgasm, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Medical Procedures, Multi, Multiple Spikes (Transformers), Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Knotting, Oral Sex, Orgy, Other, Pain, Partial Mind Control, Rape, Sadism, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Twincest, Verbal Humiliation, dubcon, modded spikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 01:11:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17694737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: Sideswipe has done it before: exchange his body for his own or others' survival. Why should this time be any different?





	1. Megatron and the Deal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grotesgi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grotesgi/gifts).



> This is probably one of the darkest fics I've ever written. Ever. PLEASE pay attention to the tags and please let me know if I've forgotten something and I truly apologize if I have.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> face-fucking, face-slapping

                It’s the possessive grip Vortex has on Bluestreak’s doorwing that sparks the idea. As soon as it blooms in his head, Sideswipe abruptly darts to the side. He dodges Brawl’s out flung hand and is standing in front of Megatron before the rest of them can blink an optic.

                Megatron seems unconcerned that one of his prisoners has just escaped from the ‘cons who were supposed to have him contained. Not that Sideswipe can blame Megatron for his indifference. Like the rest of the Autobots, Sideswipe had been relieved of all of his weapons, although apparently he’s the only one judged dangerous enough to be secured with stasis cuffs around his wrists.

                Sideswipe’s good, but he’s not an idiot… no matter what Prowl or Ratchet have said in the past. He’s not going anywhere right now, even if the cuffs weren’t sapping his energy. Of course, Sideswipe has more skills than just those related to fighting.

                “How about just me?” Sideswipe offers up to Megatron’s mildly amused expression. “Make the others off limits.”

                Sideswipe glances over his shoulder to see some of the nearest ‘cons pause, but the crowd around Bluestreak, Cliffjumper, and Hound are three mecha deep. There’s a lot of excited chattering so Bluestreak’s distressed whimpers are faint, but they still drive a spear straight through Sideswipe’s spark. He bounces in place and looks back up at Megatron, knowing he doesn’t have a lot of time before the pawing turns more intent.

                Megatron leans back and crosses his arms over his broad chest. The fusion cannon glints in the overhead light as he tilts his head to consider Sideswipe.

                “… generous of you. But foolish. You don’t know how long you’ll be here - it could be days. You’re all low level foot soldiers and have no intel that I could use. And as such, there’s not a great urgency for your faction to get you back,” he points out as his gaze rises up and scornfully trails over the other three Autobots.

                No information, sure. But Sideswipe’s pretty damn certain Prowl is going to be wracking his powerful processor for the fastest way to get his adopted creation out of Megatron’s hands. That at least, is one piece of intel that none of the Decepticons know. Pit, there’s probably only a dozen people within the Autobots that are aware of the relationship between Prowl and Bluestreak.

                “Yeah, I get it. It’s why you gave everyone free reign to play with us,” Sideswipe returns with a twisted smile. “But trust me… I’ll last longer than the three of them combined.”

                And with Sunstreaker raising holy hell, demanding his twin be fetched back home, _right now_ … Sideswipe is hopeful that they’ll be here for a day, two tops. Tolerable in the grand scheme of things.

                Megatron’s optics return to Sideswipe and trail down his frame. It’s a fight not to shrink away from that searing gaze but he’s the one who offered himself. Pay up or shut up.

                “Just you, hmm? And anyone can do anything they want to you with the condition that the others remain unharmed,” Megatron drawls.

                Sideswipe raises up his hand, one finger in the air. “Not _anything_. Just interfacing. I’d prefer to leave here with all my limbs intact.”

                “Hmph… you couldn’t last,” Megatron says dismissively, throwing the words over his shoulder as he turns away.

                “Try me!” Sideswipe calls out, the desperation rising. Cliffjumper is shouting something from within the crowd of voices, sounding both furious and scared, and Sideswipe knows this window of opportunity is rapidly closing. “C’mon… a favor from one former gladiator to another…”

                Heavy pedes stomp up behind Sideswipe and moist air is ex-vented on top of his head just before thick fingers clamp down onto his waist. Sideswipe twitches but holds still, gaze fixed unerringly on the broad back of the Decepticon leader.

                Megatron gracefully takes a seat on the bench adorning the brig’s far wall. He raises an orbital ridge at Sideswipe, watching as the ‘con behind him fondles Sideswipe’s hood while humping his lower back.

                “…leave him,” Megatron orders, with a careless wave of his hand. The big mech behind Sideswipe makes a disappointed sound and then stomps off. Megatron lazily beckons Sideswipe forward as soon as he’s free.

                “I beat your brother, you know,” Megatron comments airily. “Rather easily.”

                Sideswipe’s hands clench into fists before he forces them to hang loosely. As if he could ever forget the weeks of healing Sunstreaker had needed after that bout. “We’re meant to be together… to fight together. You know that.”

                “Hmm… too bad he’s not here to share this with you,” Megatron returns. He stares at Sideswipe for several seconds longer before leaning back with a little summoning flick of his fingers.

                “We will use you, little warrior,” Megatron cautions. His thighs slowly spread as Sideswipe moves closer and with a soft click, Megatron’s array bares itself. “We’ll use every hole you have. Over and over again. This is your last and only chance to change your mind… do you still say yes?”

                Sideswipe stares at the big gray spike as it slowly gains final pressurization between Megatron’s thighs. He in-vents deeply, narrows his bond with Sunstreaker even further, and nods.

                “So be it. Start here,” Megatron instructs, gesturing at his lap. Behind Sideswipe, he hears a chorus of disappointed protests as Megatron presumably uses a ship-wide comm to explain what is happening.

                Sideswipe releases the vent of air and takes another step forward before pausing. “What do you want? Mouth? Valve?”

                “… your mouth,” Megatron says decisively, once more scanning Sideswipe’s body in a way which honestly makes his plating crawl. “You’re very impertinent for a mere frontliner. Maybe this will help you learn your place.”

                “Sideswipe? Sideswipe, what’s happening?”

                Sideswipe sinks to his knees between Megatron’s legs, looking over his shoulder at the trio of Autobots huddled together. They’re banged up some, but still standing. Bluestreak’s sensory panels flick back and forth in confusion.

                “It’s fine, guys. I got this,” Sideswipe announces.

                “Got what? … Sideswipe? Got _what?!”_ Hound demands, taking a step forward. He looks at the crowd of mechs backing away from them and then to Sideswipe with a dawning horror.

                Before Sideswipe can answer, Megatron reaches out and grabs Sideswipe’s left sensory horn. His claws dig in and he drags Sideswipe closer, Megatron’s wet spike head skidding across Sideswipe’s cheek.

                “Less talking,” Megatron growls and grabs hold of his spike. “Open.”

                Wincing at the rough grip on his helm, Sideswipe reluctantly obliges. Shuddering in disgust, he forces himself not to jerk backwards as Megatron directs his spike past Sideswipe’s parted lips. He keeps pushing, Sideswipe’s hope for being allowed to service him at his own pace quickly disappearing.

                Sideswipe gags as the hot length hits the back of his throat. Megatron gives an irritated grunt and then stands, his grip on Sideswipe’s helm firm. Their height differences forces Sideswipe’s head back, elongating his throat so that on the next thrust inwards, his spike slides smoothly down Sideswipe’s intake.

                “Better,” Megatron mutters. “Suck.”

                Sideswipe does his best, because Megatron is the one he needs to impress in order to keep this deal. It’s not easy though. Megatron’s spike is large and forces Sideswipe’s mouth open wide enough to cause a sharp sting in the corners of his lips. The thrusts are hard and jarring, uncaring of Sideswipe’s comfort.

                But Megatron is not the first mech who’s used Sideswipe’s mouth in such a fashion. It takes but a moment for old habits to kick in. Startled, Megatron moans as Sideswipe ripples his intake, his glossa sweeping across the underside of Megatron’s spike.

                “Perhaps not such a bad idea, after all,” Megatron says in between pants. Sideswipe’s optics roll back as he peers up the length of Megatron’s frame. He dares to place his hands on the warlord’s thighs for balance and they spread to give Megatron more power behind his thrusts.

                Pre-transfluid is already trickling down Sideswipe’s throat and he chokes on a random spurt of it, but Megatron doesn’t seem to care. His other hand comes up and grabs hold of Sideswipe’s free sensory horn, using both as handles to hold his head still. He sets up a fast and brutal pace, Sideswipe’s nasal ridge getting smashed against Megatron’s belly every time he bottoms out. It doesn’t take long for Sideswipe’s throat to feel raw, his lips to burn with each pass.

                Sideswipe entertains a resigned sort of apprehension as the Decepticons in the room start jeering and calling out suggestions behind him. It sounds like a big group and there’s just one of him. But he reminds himself that he’s bigger and sturdier than the other three Autobots. He’s more physically and emotionally equipped to handle something like this.

                After all, it’s not like he and Sunstreaker haven’t offered their bodies up in exchange for survival before.  

                He closes his optics and thinks of his twin. They could get rough with one another, especially after battles. Sideswipe had fucked Sunstreaker’s mouth like this before; Sunstreaker had done the same to him. He recalls those memories, does his best to pretend that there are familiar hands on his helm and not a stranger’s. Someone’s going to be pawing at his valve any second now and he prefers not to be completely dry when he’s first entered.

                Sideswipe hums quietly, rippling the calipers in his throat again and Megatron utters a curse, hips pistoning faster.

                “I might… just keep… you,” Megatron pants, making Sideswipe shiver. He doesn’t have a lot of time to think of those ramifications because Megatron grabs the back of Sideswipe’s head and smashes his face against Megatron’s armor, holding him in place. Sideswipe scrambles at the wide thighs, looking for purchase as hot splashes of transfluid pulse over the base of his glossa. It fills his throat faster than he can swallow and he reflexively pulls back.

                Sunstreaker would have let him, always happy to drench Sideswipe’s face. Megatron just groans in satisfaction and rides out Sideswipe’s wriggles with ease. Transfluid bubbles up at the corners of his lips and trail down his chin before Megatron finally finishes. When he pulls out, all Sideswipe can do is gasp as his head swims from the scent of ozone clogging his sensors.

                He’s further disorientated when Megatron releases Sideswipe’s sensory horns and slaps him across the face. He sways in place, his hand reflexively pressing against the burn in his cheek.

                “Still upright,” Megatron comments, almost sounding approving. “I’m interested to see how long you last.”

                Megatron leans down and grabs Sideswipe’s wrist, unlocking the stasis cuffs. Sideswipe feels an instant uptick in energy, although he doesn’t think it will do him a lot of good in the long run.

                “You’ll need all your strength,” Megatron says in explanation as he subspaces the cuffs. He gestures at someone behind Sideswipe. “Take him.”

                Processor dazed, Sideswipe is too slow to react. He’s grabbed by his shoulders and dragged back to the middle of the room, feet flailing to try and find purchase. A cheer spreads across the room as he’s shoved violently onto his front.

 

\--

 

                “What just happened?” Bluestreak asks, pressing against Hound’s side. He unconsciously seeks the reassurance of touch and Hound automatically gives it, sliding an arm around Bluestreak’s shoulder. It doesn’t stop the trembles in his frame as he watches Megatron hold Sideswipe’s head still and repeatedly thrust into his mouth.

                Bluestreak has always thought of Sideswipe as larger than life. But on his knees at Megatron’s feet, he seems small. Small and vulnerable and Bluestreak hates it.

                “He stupidly traded himself for us,” Hound says grimly, confirming Bluestreak’s suspicions.

                _Idiot_. Bluestreak’s best friend is an idiot.

                “What?! Why would he do something like that?” Cliffjumper exclaims, absently patting Bluestreak’s side.

                Hound looks down at Cliffjumper and then meaningfully back up at the crowd of Decepticons hungrily watching the show in front of them. Cliffjumper follows his gaze and then puffs up defensively.

                “I could have taken it!” he protests. Then his head whips around at a strangled noise from Sideswipe. Cliffjumper moves closer, his shoulder brushing Bluestreak’s hip.

                “Could you have taken that?” Hound asks, pointing at Megatron, a mech who is easily ten times larger than the average minibot.

                Cliffjumper opens his mouth and then shuts it with a small shake of his head. “… could have shared it,” he finally says. He shakes his head again. “Idiot.”

                Well. At least they are all in agreement about that.

 

~ End Chapter 1


	2. Brawl, Wildrider, Onslaught, Vortex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sticky, plug and play, rape, blood and injury, face-fucking, face-slapping, verbal humiliation

                Sideswipe narrowly avoids his face slamming into the decking. Considering how sore his mouth and nasal ridge are already, he’s glad he managed to pull his arms up in time to cushion himself.

                “Open!” a deep voice commands, fingers worming their way between Sideswipe’s thighs.

                “Jeez, warn a guy,” Sideswipe replies. He reluctantly spreads his legs as well as he can under the weight of whoever is crouched over him. “And you all really need to learn some new words. Have you tried ‘closed’ lately?”

                “Smartaft,” someone complains, and Sideswipe thinks it might be Brawl, although he can’t quite be sure. He’s apparently not allowed to look because a hand lands on his helm and slams his head down against the back of his wrist.

                Thick fingers, blunt and hard, prod at Sideswipe’s cover from behind. A claw worms its away into the seam and Sideswipe hurriedly commands it to transform aside. Ratchet will give him hell if he comes back with missing pieces, even something so small as an array panel. 

                “Nice,” Brawl says, chuckling. “Want it, huh?”

                A finger dips inside Sideswipe’s valve and he clenches his hands into fists at the abrupt sting. He’s not completely dry, but it’s a close thing.

                “No, you pathetic Neaderthahhh!” Sideswipe turns his head and buries his denta into his arm, muffling the scream into his own plating as Brawl unceremoniously shoves his spike inside him.

                Quiet. He has to be quiet. Bluestreak’s watching. Delicate Bluestreak who already wakes up from memory purges on a nightly basis. Sideswipe would rather not give the other mech any more nightmare fuel than he’s already going to have from witnessing this.

                “Nnghh, yeah!” Brawl moans, falling forward to drape himself over Sideswipe’s back. “That’s some good stuff. Take it, bitch!”

                He withdraws only to slam in again, Sideswipe’s entire frame jolting. Optic shutters clenching shut, his bites down harder on his own plating, because it _hurts_. His HUD helpfully informs him that he has multiple microscopic tears in his valve lining and Sideswipe doesn’t doubt there’ll be energon soon. Either from Brawl or the next mech.

                … energon will ease the way at least.

                Sideswipe hears more voices behind them, but he’s so focused on not making a sound that he doesn’t make out the words until it’s too late.

                “…flip him over then!”

                “Fine, fine,” Brawl grumbles, pulling out so abruptly Sideswipe gives a full body flinch. Two pairs of hands grab hold of him and then roll him over, Sideswipe unable to stop the startled yelp when his back hits the ground.

                Sideswipe has a momentary glimpse of Brawl grinning as he bulls his way back between Sideswipe’s thighs before a heavy weight drops onto his chest.

                “Hey there, handsome,” Wildrider purrs, scooching forward. His aft drags across Sideswipe’s hood and he just knows there’ll be paint scrapes there Sunstreaker will bitch about later. Sideswipe can hear it now: ‘crimson and berry-red do _not_ match, Sideswipe!’

                More pressing than that thought is the bobbing spike Wildrider is stroking. It’s hard and wet and Sideswipe’s mouth starts aching all over again, because he knows how this’ll go.

                “Got something here for ya,” the Stunticon says, smirking.

                Sideswipe can’t help glancing down at the spike and then back up at Wildrider with a raised orbital ridge. “Really? Where? I can’t see anything.”

                The smirk turns into a grimace as Brawl shoves back into him, but not before Wildrider glares at him in offense.

                “No? Well, take a closer look then,” Wildrider snarls. He grabs Sideswipe’s nasal ridge and digs his claws in. When Sideswipe’s mouth opens in a gasp of pain, Wildrider’s hips snap forward, forcing his spike past Sideswipe’s lips.

                Sideswipe’s really tempted to bite down. One, because Wildrider is a defective glitch who Sideswipe has never respected, and two… because now it feels like his valve is on fire. Brawl is going at it hard, hands clamped down tight on Sideswipe’s hips to keep him place. It’s not like Sideswipe’s going anywhere though; Wildrider is a pretty effective weight.

                “Yeah, that’s it… bet you love it, don’t you, you little whore,” Wildrider moans. Tilting forward, he props himself up on one palm above Sideswipe’s head. He withdraws a little and probes inward again, quickly getting into a rhythm of fragging Sideswipe’s mouth. The angle he’s sitting at means Sideswipe’s chin is slammed every time Wildrider sinks in deep.

                 Sideswipe guesses it’s a little better than continued hits to his nasal ridge.

                All of a sudden, Brawl grips his hips hard and he jerks erratically against Sideswipe’s pelvis before finally thrusting in to the hilt. Sideswipe’s fingers spasm and then dig into his palms as he feels warm fluid shoot into the depths of his valve. It stings the abraded lining and he makes a muffled protest as Brawl leisurely starts pumping in and out, spreading the transfluid around.

                “How’s he feel, Brawl?” Wildrider grunts. He pushes his spike as deep as he can get it, ignoring Sideswipe when he gags. When Wildrider pulls out a few seconds later he gives a few shallow thrusts against the inside of Sideswipe’s cheek before slapping his face. “His mouth’s good, but I think I wanna… aww, come on!”

                Brawl abruptly pulls out, Sideswipe’s valve walls spasming in response. His lower half is only chilly for a few seconds before another frame’s heat settles between his legs. Big hands wrap around Sideswipe’s thighs and pull his pelvis up atop someone’s lap. Wildrider pitches forward a little at the shift, yelping in surprise. But he quickly reseats himself, slapping Sideswipe’s cheek again. He peers down, and Sideswipe glares at him with undisguised hatred.

                “Guess I’ll have to make do with your little slut mouth,” Wildrider says. Then he jerks his head backwards in gesturing motion, grinning evilly. “You have fun now!”

                Sideswipe has only a moment for his spark to drop before it feels like he’s being split in two. This time he can’t stop the scream, the sound fortunately gargled around Wildrider’s spike. 

                Whoever’s between Sideswipe’s legs is _big_ , with a spike that’s pushing his limits. With enough preparation, he might enjoy it. But even with Brawl’s transfluid painting the way, Sideswipe knows he’ll be bleeding by the end.

                “Hmm… you’re right, Brawl… the shareware’s surprisingly tight.” The words rumble up through Sideswipe and he dimly recognizes Onslaught’s voice. Well, now he knows that the gestalt leader is certainly proportional.

                Sideswipe tightly squeezes his optic shutters closed as Onslaught withdraws and thrusts back in, every inch of his spike like acid to the valve walls. It scorches all of his sensors, more so than Megatron abusing his mouth or even Brawl taking him dry. Without thinking, he starts to struggle, needing to get _away_.

                “Hold still, I’m not done yet!” Wildrider snarls, grabbing Sideswipe’s head and slamming it against the floor. The blow makes him see stars and the fight momentarily goes out of him. “And watch those fragging teeth!”

                The Stunticon grunts with effort as he thrusts in and out with short ragged jabs that make Sideswipe’s denta ache. He wants this over as quickly as possible, so he sucks on the spike, glossa lashing against the sensitive head. Wildrider shudders and comes with a surprised shout, humping Sideswipe’s face. It’s harder to swallow the transfluid at this angle and he coughs up a mouthful as Wildrider pulls out a moment later. Droplets spatter on his cheeks and nasal ridge as Wildrider strokes out the last of his spill, back arched in pleasure. 

                “Frag… frag, that was good,” Wildrider moans, leaning back and propping himself up on Sideswipe’s chest. His hand falls away from his spike and it twitches before slowly beginning to sink back into its sheath. Sideswipe immediately turns his head to the side, trying to rub his face against his shoulder. “Who wants a go next? The whore’s got a pretty decent mouth…”

                Relaxed and pliant, Wildrider topples to the side with a giggle as another ‘con comes up and gives him a shove. They immediately plop down once Wildrider rolls away, something tickling Sideswipe’s stomach in the process. He blearily turns his head to look up into a glowing visor and a crazed grin normally hidden behind a blast mask.

                Fuck.

                Apparently the entire Combaticon team is going have a go at him. Awesome. He winces at a particularly deep thrust from Onslaught, knowing Blast Off is just a little bit bigger. Even with energon and transfluid now slicking his valve, the shuttle’s spike will probably rip out half of his lining.

                “Hello, pretty,” Vortex purrs, scooting backwards. The tickling sensation repeats itself and Sideswipe realizes it’s Vortex’s rotors dragging across Sideswipe’s abdomen. “Give me a little taste, will you?”

                He’s confused until Vortex reaches for Sideswipe’s arm, claws digging into the port cover on the underside of his wrist.

                “Hey, I can…!” Sideswipe says, body twisting in protest as Vortex grips the panel and pulls. It pops off with a wrench of its tiny hinges and Vortex tosses it aside, lost in the shuffle of pedes surrounding them. “…I would have opened it, you fragging aft!”

                “Frag yeah, you would’ve, you nasty slut!”

                Sideswipe’s neck twists around at the particularly loud shout and he thrusts out a hand in the direction of the source, all but his middle finger tucked against his palm. There are a lot of things he dislikes about Earth, but the curses and offensive gestures are not one of them.

                Vortex laughs softly as Sideswipe’s attention returns to him. He absently licks a drop of energon from his finger as he flicks his other wrist, unspooling a cable and plug. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

                He slips the connector into Sideswipe’s port, hissing through his denta as the one way flood of sensation starts up across the link. Even without a feedback loop, Sideswipe feels something slimy coat his haptic net, and he shudders at the horrible taste that suddenly springs to life in his mouth.

                It’s worse than the mix of transfluid and energon that already exists there.

                “Go on, Ons,” Vortex says, speaking over his shoulder at his team leader. “Let loose a little. He can take it; can’t you, darling?”

                As if Vortex plugging in was permission, Onslaught suddenly starts moving in and out of Sideswipe like a mech possessed. And now Sideswipe is glad that the other mech started out slow, because this pace right off the bat would have severely maimed him.

                As it is, Sideswipe swears someone is reaching up into him with razor blades, drawing them down the length of his valve over and over again. He throws his head back with a tortured groan, his arm jerking within Vortex’s grip. His feet scramble at the decking, kicking at Onslaught’s thighs.

                “MMmm… oh yes, that’s _wonderful_ ,” Vortex gushes as he easily moves with Sideswipe’s squirming body. He releases Sideswipe’s arm and doesn’t seem to care when Sideswipe automatically grabs Vortex’s waist, fingers digging in. He just shifts so that his weight is distributed onto his hands, palms on the floor on either side of Sideswipe’s head. He looks down into Sideswipe’s face and smiles beatifically. “Very tasty.”

                Sideswipe could have happily gone his entire functioning without watching Vortex get off on his agony. It’s deeply disturbing to watch Vortex shiver and moan, lick his lips and pant with the rise of pain deep inside Sideswipe’s pelvis. Fortunately, it only takes roughly two minutes before a wave of blue sparks sweeps down Vortex’s arched body. It grounds out in Sideswipe’s port, making him whimper as the charge fries the delicate circuitry.

                Vortex collapses atop him, trembling, while Onslaught’s pace picks up. He has a tight grip on Sideswipe’s legs, showing his strength by practically pulling him into each and every one of Onslaught’s thrusts, even with the additional weight of his team mate.

                Sideswipe had stopped fighting shortly after Vortex had plugged in. Onslaught is stronger than him and between the two Combaticons, he’s truly pinned. Besides, Vortex seemed to like it when Sideswipe struggled and he didn’t want to give ‘con the satisfaction. 

                After another long, torturous minute in which Onslaught huffs and groans like he’s dying, he goes completely silent. A single pulse of transfluid paints Sideswipe’s valve walls before Onslaught pulls out and jerks off the rest of the way onto Sideswipe’s belly.

                Vortex makes a disgruntled noise and finally sits up, reaching around behind him. “Really, Onslaught? On my rotors?”

                “BlastOff will lick you clean later,” Onslaught rumbles, releasing Sideswipe’s legs. They flop to the floor, weak. Sideswipe jerks in place when he feels something hot well up and trickle out of his valve. It begins to pool under his aft, seeping in under the plating like the world’s most disgusting tickle.

                “That’s true,” Vortex says smugly. He leverages himself upright and shakes, his rotary blades whispering together with an eerie dry sound. Sideswipe’s a little dazed, so his optics fixate on the motion, a small part of him hoping that that means Blast Off won’t be visiting him after all.

                Vortex steps over him so that he’s standing at Sideswipe’s side. He leans down, smiling with that creepy grin of his. Sideswipe decides he likes the other mech better when his blast mask is up.

                “I might see you again later, pretty. There are a few other parts of you I would love to play with.”

                “… awesome,” Sideswipe manages to say, his voice burring at the edges. 

                Vortex’s grin widens. “Oh, it will be.”

                He flounces off, Sideswipe spying spatters of liquid on the tail end of his rotors. Blegrh. Better Blast Off than Sideswipe; Vortex could have just turned around and demanded Sideswipe lick him clean, so he’s grateful that didn’t happen at least.

 

\--

                There’s something seriously wrong with Vortex, Hound decides.

                The others before him didn’t seem to care one way or another if they caused Sideswipe discomfort. They wanted their pleasure, and if Sideswipe got hurt in the process… well, then so be it.

                But Vortex… Vortex derives his pleasure directly from Sideswipe’s pain. He has to be, because there is no way Sideswipe feels anything but agony right now. Onslaught dwarfs Sideswipe’s frame and his spike is easily the size of Hound’s hand at its broadest point.

                None of them had taken any care in preparing Sideswipe and Hound worries about the amount of energon that he can see coating Onslaught’s spike every time he withdraws. He has no idea how Sideswipe isn’t screaming right now.

                Of course, that would probably just make Vortex happier, so maybe that’s why Sideswipe is keeping as silent as he is.

                Bluestreak hiccups in distress against Hound’s side and he rubs the outside of Bluestreak’s arm, trying to comfort him. Bluestreak is close to the twins; it must be incredibly difficult for him to…

                Oh.

                Oh, _Sideswipe_. Hound shakes his head and clutches Bluestreak closer. No wonder Sideswipe hadn’t even hesitated to exchange himself for them.

 

 ~ End Chapter 2 


	3. Astrotrain, Blitzwing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sticky, rape, non-con, double penetration in two holes, aft fucking

                A shadow falls over Sideswipe and he turns his attention away from Vortex’s retreating back, looking up, up, up into a matching pair of smirks.  He slumps back against the floor shaking his head. “Oh, come on, really? You two?”

                Astrontrain and Blitzwing give each other high fives, towering over Sideswipe’s prone form. “Yup. Gonna scream for us, shareware?”

                Sideswipe closes his optics and slowly in-vents, briefly dipping into the twin bond. Sunstreaker is solid and warm at the other end and immediately surges towards him, radiating concern and anger. Even the anger is comforting, although Sideswipe’s sure it isn’t directed towards him.

                Well… pretty sure.

                It’s tempting to just drown himself in his brother’s presence, but it’ll hurt worse to come back to reality later. So he gives Sunstreaker a gentle caress, trying to be as reassuring as possible, before withdrawing again. Sunstreaker follows, battering against the blocks Sideswipe erects, but at this distance, he won’t be able to break them down.

                He opens his optics again to see Blitzwing crouched at his side, surveying him and licking his lips. “What do you want?” Sideswipe asks dully. Blitzwing and Astrotrain are just as big as Onslaught, so whatever they’re going to do will hurt.

                “We’re gonna take you at the same time,” Astrotrain says, optics staring fixedly at Sideswipe’s pelvis.

                Sideswipe squirms and rolls until he’s sitting up, wincing at the sharp bursts of pain that radiate down his inner thighs.

                “You’ll break me even trying,” Sideswipe states flatly. “There’s no way both of you will fit in my valve at the same time.”

                “Well, we don’t care if we break you,” Blitzwing says carelessly. “You’re just a dirty Autobot slut who leaped at the chance to frag all of us. But… yeah, we wouldn’t fit. So I’m gonna slid inside that valve of yours which Onslaught and Brawl warmed up for me… and Astro’s gonna take your little whore aft.”

                Sideswipe blinks at the triple changer, uncomprehending. Then the words kick in and he wildly shakes his head, even as Astrotrain begins to circle around behind him.

                “That’s even worse!” he protests, going rigid when Astrotrain’s hands land on his shoulders. He cranes his neck back, staring into avidly gleaming red optics. “You definitely won’t fit in that port; let me suck you off instead! I’ll make it good… just ask Wildrider. Or hell, Megatron!”

                Blitzwing kneels down and shoves Sideswipe’s thighs apart, scooting forward between them. The two mechs grab Sideswipe like he’s a doll and heft him into Blitzwing’s lap, right atop a heated interface panel. Blitzwing hums as he mock thrusts against Sideswipe’s valve, big hands fitting over Sideswipe’s aft.

                “He’ll fit,” Blitzwing says confidently as Astrotrain worms his fingers under Sideswipe. The pads of his digits probe behind Sideswipe’s valve, rubbing over the small opening there. Sideswipe twitches as one finger slips forward, coating itself in the mess of fluids still seeping out of him and then slides back to press against the orifice. “We’ve done this before. I’ll warn ya though… it can hurt. But a horny piece of shareware like you probably won’t mind.”

                “I’m not… fuck!” Sideswipe shouts when that finger plunges deep. The abrupt stretch burns like blasterfire, and Astrotrain barely waits a second before withdrawing the digit and pushing two in. Fortunately, he pauses there, although only because Blitzwing is repositioning him so that the other mech’s exposed spike nudges Sideswipe’s abused valve opening.

                “Be sure and make it a good show for your friends,” Blitzwing murmurs. Sideswipe looks up from considering Blitzwing’s ample spike, having pretty much forgotten that the other Autobots were just across the room. His gaze automatically flits over to them just as Blitzwing thrusts up.

                Sideswipe doesn’t make a sound as he’s entered, but it’s a close thing. He bites his lip hard instead, immediately looking away after meeting Cliffjumper’s optics. Why were they even still here? Shouldn’t they be in cells somewhere?          

                Astrotrain waits for Blitzwing to settle and then he fingers Sideswipe several times, making an appreciative sound as the port walls keep clenching in an attempt to expel the intruder. Sideswipe is overly full from Blitzwing, and Astrotrain’s digits scrape against the thin wall separating the two channels.

                He’s always been ambivalent regarding aft play. It never fails to rev Sunstreaker up though, so Sideswipe usually indulged his brother if he was in the mood. Sunstreaker has fingered him and even fragged him there several times, but it has always taken a lot of preparation to get him relaxed enough.

                His current partners definitely aren’t taking the same considerations.

                “Yeah, this is gonna be good,” Astrotrain says faintly, his engines rumbling excitedly. “You’re all tight. Surprised actually. Thought a little slut like you would be more open. Don’t give it up back here as often?”

                Sideswipe isn’t really able to reply because Blitzwing draws back and roughly pushes up again, jostling Sideswipe’s entire frame. He can’t help clutching at Blitzwing’s shoulders for balance, the grip on Sideswipe’s aft the only thing really keeping him upright. As it is, Sideswipe’s legs are stretched wide around Blitzwing’s waist, hips aching at the strain. His feet continually slip against the floor, unable to find purchase.

                “Maybe he’s just not used to mechs as big as us,” Blitzwing returns, smug.

                Sideswipe curls his fingers, digging them into the seams on the triple changer’s chest. He manages a smirk. “Onslaught was bigger.”

                 One of these days, he’ll learn to keep his mouth shut. Today isn’t it, however.

                Blitzwing glares, grabs hold of Sideswipe’s waist and starts laying into him with brutal jabs of his hips. Sideswipe’s own mass is working against him, the spike head raking against Sideswipe’s abused inner walls every time his frame drops. After a few moments, he hears a squelching sound that draws his attention downwards.

                He shudders, tanks roiling as he catches sight of old fluids staining his thighs. They’re being forced out of him by Blitzwing’s spike, an equal mix of transfluid and energon.

                Sideswipe’s whole body flinches as a third finger is shoved into his aft port. It’s an obvious struggle for Astrotrain to get it in there, and Sideswipe is pretty sure the anterior rim tears a little. His audials fill with white noise as he struggles to bite back the pained cries that want to claw their way up out of his throat.

                Astrotrain grumbles something that Sideswipe can’t make out over the rushing in his audials. Blitzwing says something back, his hips slowing and then pausing. Sideswipe gasps in a mouthful of cool air at the slight reprieve, his body feeling unnaturally hot. His processor swims from the heat and it’s all he can do to focus in on his own hands.

                They’re scratched, the black paint largely worn away and hinting at the primer gray beneath it. When he gets back, he knows Sunstreaker will find each and every imperfection in his paintjob, no matter how’ll small. He’ll sand them away before applying patches, grumbling irritably the entire time. Sideswipe can almost hear his brother’s voice now.

                Three sparkbeats later, the only thing Sideswipe can hear is his own wretched wail as Astrotrain violently shoves his spike into Sideswipe’s aft port.

 

\--

                Cliffjumper shudders and turns away, staring fixedly at the scuffed olive green of Hound’s waist. He alternatively feels sick and relieved… and sick that he feels relieved.

                Cliffjumper would probably die if Astrotrain and Blitzwing attempted to do to him what they are doing to Sideswipe. As it is, Sideswipe’s bitten off scream still rings in the room, even over the shouts and jeers of the other Decepticons. There’s so many, all of them eagerly watching the show. Several have been unable to wait their turn and have overloaded already, stroking their spikes or fingering themselves to completion.         

                It’s disgusting and horrifying.

                And Sideswipe had willingly walked into that to save the three of them from experiencing the same thing.

                “Oh, Primus… are they killing him?” Bluestreak asks, voice quavering.

                Cliffjumper glances up to see Bluestreak resolutely looking away. He has a death grip on Hound’s arm, sensory panels twitching madly.

                “Sideswipe is tough,” Hound says soothingly, gently stroking Bluestreak’s upper back. “I’ve seen him hop into MedBay carrying his own leg and part of his spark showing. He’s made it through all that. He’ll make it through this.”

                Cliffjumper privately thinks Hound is trying to reassure himself as well as Bluestreak. Yeah, the arrogant frontliner has had some pretty bad injuries before, Cliffjumper can admit that. But this? This is somehow far worse.

                “Hey!”

                All three of them jump, and Cliffjumper whirls around, automatically putting himself between the others and the new threat. Not that Drag Strip is all that dangerous, but he can still pack a punch. Cliffjumper doesn’t quite trust the mandate that no one can touch them so he aggressively flares his plating and glares at the Stunticon.

                “What?”

                Drag Strip gestures towards the center of the room where the two triplechangers are essentially mauling Sideswipe. He’s not a small mech, but he’s being jostled around between Astrotrain and Blitzwing like he weighs nothing. Sideswipe’s optic shutters are clenched shut as he leans into Blitzwing’s arm, clutching it like a lifeline.

                For once, his smartaft mouth is also shut.

                “Optics to the front,” Drag Strip commands with an evil grin. “He’s putting on such a good show, we’d hate for you to miss it.”

                Bluestreak looks over his shoulder, watches for five seconds, and then buries his face in Hound’s shoulder, whimpering. “I can’t… I can’t!”

                The crowd parts a little and Drag Strip’s team leader wades through the smaller mechs, shoving some out of the way when they don’t move fast enough. When he reaches them, he wraps his hand around Bluestreak’s nape and gently pulls.

                Cliffjumper’s hands form fists at his side as he helplessly stands there, severely outclassed if the Stunticon leader decided to start something. Motormaster smiles down into Bluestreak’s face.

                “You will watch. Or I’ll pluck your optics from your helm,” Motormaster informs him, before looking meaningfully at Hound and thenCliffjumper.

                “Megatron said…” Hound starts, but Motormaster’s smile just widens.

                “Megatron told us no one could ‘face you. Never said anything about a little roughing up. ‘Course you lot are all so self-sacrificing,” Motormaster says with a scornful snort. “So how about this… you watch, or I’ll drag your friend over here and encourage those two to try for the same hole. You think he’s feelin’ it now? They’ll rip him open and he’ll bleed out right at your pedes.”

                “NO!” Bluestreak tears himself away from Motormaster’s grasp, optics bleaching to a pale white. A single coolant tear wells up in the corner of his right optic. “No… I’ll watch. Please don’t do that, I’ll watch.”

                “See that you do,” Motormaster rumbles. He turns and slips back into the crowd, Bluestreak resolutely facing Sideswipe and the two triplechangers. He shudders at the sight of Sideswipe flopping around, spatters of energon dotting Blitzwing’s thighs.

                “He’ll be ok… Sideswipe will be ok,” Hound says firmly as the tear trickles from Bluestreak’s optic and down his cheek. He rubs the side of Bluestreak’s arm and presses against his back, between Bluestreak’s sensory panels. “Motormaster wouldn’t do… that. Blitzwing and Astrotrain already admitted they both couldn’t fit.”

                After a moment, Bluestreak nods. “Even if he did… Motormaster is big and nowhere near as fast as a Seeker… he’d make an easy target on the field,” he says quietly.

                Cliffjumper leans into his side, threading his fingers through Bluestreak’s and squeezing approvingly. “Yeah, he would, Blue.”

 

~ End Chapter 3


	4. Frenzy, Rumble, Ravage, Soundwave, Ion Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sticky, rape, noncon, partial mind control, cowgirl position, oral knotting, modded spikes, fisting, face-slapping. Possible beasiality, depending on how you view Ravage

      When Astrotrain and Blitzwing finish, they shove him off their laps and walk away laughing.

      Sideswipe is left crumpled in a tangled heap of limbs on the floor, shuddering and trying to remember how to vent. It feels like someone has set his valve on fire and he’s pretty sure now there’s more energon than transfluid trailing down his legs. His rear port is also abraded raw, bursts of agony radiating out from it down the back of his thighs. If he tried to get up and walk he knows he would just collapse right back to the floor.

      Just when he’s wondering if maybe he’ll get a break, Sideswipe feels a nudge to his shoulder. He blearily turns his head and looks up, dreading who is going to be there.

      Then he blinks in surprise. 

      “What?” he asks dumbly, leveraging himself up onto one elbow.

      Frenzy and Rumble snicker before Rumble nudges his twin and points at Sideswipe. “Think the big guys broke you a little, huh? Serves ya right, you dweeb.”

      “ _You’re_ a dweeb,” Sideswipe replies immediately, because it’s almost second nature to exchange insults with these two. “And I’d love to see what _you_ look like after getting reamed by them.”

      “Awww, don’t pretend you didn’t like it,” Frenzy scoffs. “We know you’re the biggest slut the Autobots have.”

      Sideswipe closes his optics and slumps down onto his side. “Not sure where you’re getting this information,” he says quietly, mostly to himself.

      Because, really? The Spec Ops team win the right to that title. Jazz and Mirage fight over it on a weekly basis.

      “Don’t have to get it from anywhere. Can see it. Look at you… already spreading your legs for us,” Frenzy says, kicking Sideswipe’s closest knee. “Don’t even want it.”

      “Yeah? What do you want then?” Sideswipe asks, almost disappointed. They’re tiny; if their spikes are proportional, Sideswipe probably wouldn’t even feel it.

      “Frenzy wants your spike, the dirty slagger,” Rumble announces with another snigger. “And I’m going to frag his mouth while he rides you.”

      “…got some bad news for you two,” Sideswipe says, peering down his frame at his completely recessed spike. “Don’t think I’m gonna be getting it up any time soon.”

      “Aw, don’t worry about that. Boss’ll help you out,” Rumble says, gesturing at something behind Sideswipe.

      Sideswipe cranes his neck around and watches Soundwave approach, the mech looking as impassive as he always does. He comes to a stop a few feet away and Sideswipe gives a full body twitch as he feels something warm and thick run down his spinal strut. When it reaches his pelvis, he feels his spike stir out of its own volition.

      Oh, Hell no.

      “Get the fuck out of my head!” Sideswipe spits, trying to crab-walk away. He doesn’t get far... pain and a twin on each shoulder force him back to the ground barely a few feet away.

      “Oh, trust us... you’d know it if he was really in your head,” Frenzy chuckles. “He’s just playing with your neural pathways a little.”

      He swings around and plops down on Sideswipe’s abdomen, the weight barely registering. Sideswipe sightlessly stares past him in horror as he feels his spike fill completely. It pressurizes up out of its sheath so fast that it hurts, Sideswipe giving a strangled grunt as Frenzy reaches behind him and takes hold of it.

      “Nice,” Rumble comments. Apparently confident that Sideswipe isn’t going anywhere, he moves around until he’s standing at Sideswipe’s hip. Rumble leisurely strokes his hardening spike as he watches his brother grind his panel against Sideswipe’s lower belly. “He’s gonna give you a good stretch, bro.”

      Sideswipe dimly hears pedesteps walk up behind him and he barely flinches as big hands land on his shoulders and prop him up. In a parody of comfort, Sideswipe’s leaned back against Soundwave’s upper abdomen, his legs bracketing Sideswipe’s body.

      He tolerates the handling because he’s honestly gone a bit numb. Sideswipe’s body has been used before, but never against him like this. This is… invasive. More invasive then a dozen spikes penetrating his valve one after the other. At least Frenzy had been right, though; Sideswipe can’t actually feel Soundwave’s presence in his head.

      His tampering is obvious however, and Sideswipe has to look away when Frenzy lifts up and rubs himself against Sideswipe’s spike. Unfortunately, he ends up looking directly at his comrades. He hurriedly twists his head to the opposite side, unable to stand their looks of confusion and pity as Frenzy sinks down onto Sideswipe’s fully erect spike.

      A flicker of movement at ground level breaks through Sideswipe’s revulsion and he sees Ravage slink through the crowd, slipping between legs with no one the wiser. The cassette sidles up next to Soundwave, affectionately butting his head against his master’s shoulder. Then he glares balefully at Sideswipe, lips lifting in a near silent hiss.

      “Oh ho ho!” Rumble crows, voice wreathed with static. “Look at that!”

      When Sideswipe glances over at him, he sees Frenzy enthusiastically licking his twin’s spike while bouncing steadily atop Sideswipe. Now that Sideswipe thinks about it, he realizes that he’s not receiving any stimulation from being ridden. He’s fully hard, but he barely feels any sensation from Frenzy’s valve sliding up and down him. There actually hasn’t been much input at all this whole time except for the feel of pressurization. Soundwave must have blocked all external input, denying Sideswipe the possibility of experiencing any pleasure.

       Sideswipe’s not sure if Soundwave views that as a punishment or a favor; he’ll take it regardless.

      “You’ve gotten big brother’s attention,” Rumble continues, grinning madly. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t.”

      “Wha…? What are you talking… woah!”

      Sideswipe freezes as Ravage suddenly hops partway up onto his chest. Sharp claws dig into his plating as the cassette proceeds to straddle Sideswipe’s upper body with his rear legs. Then he pushes his front half upright by planting his paws on Soundwave’s forearms.

      A familiar click has Sideswipe craning his neck down and to the side. He miserably groans as he witnesses Ravage’s spike emerge from a hidden sheath on his lower belly. The firming length glistens wetly in the dim light beneath Ravage’s frame, yet another sight Sideswipe would have happily gone his entire existence without witnessing.

      “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sideswipe mutters, resignation sinking into his struts. Mouth fucked by a felinoid cassette… sure, why not? 

      “Ravage: serious. Sideswipe: open,” Soundwave intones.

      “Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” Sideswipe complains. “Surely _you_ could find a new word?”

      But as Ravage shuffles closer, Sideswipe nevertheless parts his lips, grimacing as Soundwave’s hand slips between them and guides Ravage’s spike in. Instead of being smooth, the surface is oddly bumpy. It’s at least far smaller than Megatron’s or even Wildrider’s spike, so Sideswipe breathes a figurative sigh of relief.

      Ravage’s pace starts out leisurely, and Sideswipe lets himself mentally detach a little. He’s still feeling a lot of residual pain from everyone before the cassettes, but Ravage and Frenzy aren’t really contributing. Their ‘turn’ is actually a bit of a reprieve so Sideswipe takes advantage of it, daring to send his twin a little wisp of touch to reassure him.

      Sunstreaker latches onto it with a vengeance, alternatively crooning and shouting at Sideswipe in typical Sunstreaker fashion. Unless they’re completely open to one another and exerting a great deal of effort, full sentences aren’t possible at this distance, but they’ve long been able to still ‘speak’ to one another through impressions and emotions.

      After the initial burst of love and scolding, Sunstreaker’s able to tell Sideswipe that Command has been discussing the release of the four prisoners, ‘helped’ along by Sunstreaker frequently breaking into the closed room and demanding action. Sideswipe’s amusement of the irritation on Ironhide and Ratchet’s faces ends when his HUD pops up a warning. At the same time, agony blooms within his oral cavity, jerking him out of the light connection with his twin.

      He drops back into his frame with a full body shudder, a protesting whine burbling up out of his throat. Sideswipe’s utterly confused, because even Megatron’s girth didn’t cause this much discomfort. And then he analyzes the pain, realizing it springs to life on Ravage’s every withdrawal. Barbs, Sideswipe finally decides. Ravage’s spike is modified to have thin, sharp barbs completely ringing the circumference and along the entire length.

      Why? Who the fuck knows. And Sideswipe doesn’t really care why because the needle-like projections catch on and scrape against the delicate lining of his mouth, already abraded from prior use.

      Sideswipe’s hands automatically fly up to push Ravage away, but Soundwave grabs his wrists. The mech grinds his fingers into Sideswipe’s joints, a clear warning to cease and desist. But it’s not easy to stamp down his instinct to thrash free; energon is starting to well up in his mouth, turning into a match for his valve.

      Ravage thrusts faster and harder, Sideswipe letting his jaw drop to part his lips as much as they can. It would be impossible now to use any of his tricks to get his partner off fast; his mouth would be ripped open even worse than it already is.

      In another few seconds, it doesn’t matter. Ravage makes a strangled sound and hunches forward with short, violent thrusts into Sideswipe’s mouth, jostling his helm. The pain suddenly ratchets up in intensity, bewildering Sideswipe until he realizes that his processor isn’t playing tricks on him… Ravage’s spike is getting bigger.

      Sideswipe jerks against Soundwave’s grip, panicking. The knot, because that’s the only thing it can be, swells until Sideswipe’s lips are stretched wide. Coolant tears well up at the corners of his optics and trickle down his cheeks because it _hurts_. When he offered himself up, he expected pain in his valve, some rough use of his mouth… but nothing like this. The damn barbs have dug in deep and each hump of Ravage’s hips saws the sharp points across his oral lining until energon completely fills his mouth.

      He chokes and coughs as the liquid is forced down his intake, barely even a drop able to pass between his lips and the press of the spike between them. The stretch of his mouth makes his jaw ache, sharp pains emanating down his neck and into his shoulders. The whimpers start without him realizing it and once he does, he can’t really stop. Fortunately, he’s practically buried under Ravage so his fellows can’t hear, but Soundwave and his cassettes can.

      Sideswipe would be more ashamed, but this is worse than Blitzwing and Astrotrain taking him together and that had been pretty bad. He’d like to see anyone else be on the receiving end of this and not react. In a way, it’s probably good that Soundwave still has a small amount of control over Sideswipe’s lower half; otherwise he’d have thrown Frenzy off with a flail of his legs in response to the agony.

      Praying has never really helped them at any point in their lives, but right now, pleas to Primus echo in the privacy of his head. He’s desperate; this needs to stop before he goes mad with pain.

      Maybe prayer does help… Ravage gives one last thrust and then seems well and truly stuck. A moment later, his spike throbs and pulses of transfluid mix into the pool of energon in the back of Sideswipe’s mouth. He swallows as best as he can, each motion jarring his lips and mouth, hurting enough that that Sideswipe wants to claw his own face off.

      Ravage’s spill just keeps coming, the knot not showing any sign of shrinkage. Sideswipe’s never been knotted before so he has no idea how long this will last. He floats in a dark sea of pain for what seems like an eternity but is actually only five minutes, according to his chronometer. At that point, Ravage’s spike stops jerking and goes quiescent. The felinoid’s haunches slump down onto Sideswipe’s chest and he cries out as the action pulls at the barbs.

      Distantly, he feels the weight on his pelvis disappear. Soundwave must release his control of Sideswipe’s array because he can suddenly feel wetness on his rapidly depressurizing spike and he’s able to move his legs again. They shift restlessly, pedes slipping along the floor. He doesn’t dare move more than that now, though. Sideswipe won’t chance Ravage’s spike being ripped out of his mouth.

      Of course, that’s when hands cruelly grip his thighs and a body shoves its way between them. His valve is penetrated again, a stinging hurt that is still nothing in comparison to his mouth. Each deep thrust jars his body, which then jostles Ravage’s spike. It shows no signs of decreasing in size, and the barbs continue to saw back and forth. Sideswipe can barely hear the cheers of the crowd over the sound of his own quiet whines. 

      He loves kissing. He knows he has a good mouth and loves giving his (consensual) lovers pleasure with it. But kissing is so much more than pleasure. It is affection and reassurance and comfort and something Sideswipe won’t have for a while because he’ll be too damaged.

      Not only physically, but also mentally too, until he’s able to reconcile this experience.

      The mech humping him finishes in another minute, catcalls and jeers rising up around them. Sideswipe hadn’t realized how loud it had gotten, but his audials are awash with noise. Some are making fun of the nameless ‘con who had finished so quickly, but most are calling Sideswipe ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, crowing about how much he obviously loves this.

      Someone else takes their place between Sideswipe’s legs, fondling his equipment and then shoving several fingers inside. Sideswipe grunts; they’re being none too gentle, digit tips scraping up under his rim and tugging at it with a few sharp jerks. The hand withdraws and Sideswipe thinks that the ‘con will finally use his spike but instead there’s a lumpy blunt pressure at his entrance.

      Pain flares and his rim twitches in denial, but eventually gives way under the encroaching fist. Sideswipe’s abdomen cramps at the wide penetration, his arms twisting within Soundwave’s grip. The fist isn’t as wide as Onslaught’s spike had been, but his valve is raw and the knuckles seem to catch on every single existing tear as the hand advances.

      Sideswipe’s not sure what the owner of the fist is getting out of this other than seeing Sideswipe bleed. But the act at least takes his mind off his mouth a little, especially when the hand pushes deep. Knuckles brush up against the opening to his gestational tank and on the next thrust in they firmly press against it.

      Ravage’s knot is finally starting to shrink, but the only way Sideswipe knows is because he can hear his own garbled scream as the fist keeps punching harder and harder. Finally there’s a thick sucking sound surrounding a dull crunch; liquid heat soaks his thighs as something deep inside him gives.

      He almost reflexively bites down but a squirm from the frame sitting atop him reminds him at the last second that that would probably cause him more harm than Ravage. Still, it’s hard to hold still and he can’t stop his legs from weakly kicking.

      His entire abdomen feels like Omega Supreme had just punched right through it. Fortunately, the mech between his legs seems satisfied. They finally withdraw their hand, and Sideswipe protectively clamps his knees together.

      Ravage shifts and Sideswipe realizes the cassette’s knot has shrunk. It’s still somewhat swollen, but Ravage apparently doesn’t care. He abruptly jerks out, the half-reduced barbs slicing directly across Sideswipe’s lips. The felinoid blithely hops off Sideswipe’s frame and Soundwave releases him, scooting backwards so quickly that Sideswipe’s helm bounces on the floor when he can’t catch himself from the sudden lack of support.

      Sideswipe hears several whistles as his energon-stained mouth is exposed. One of the Rainmakers darts forward out of the crowd and stands over Sideswipe’s head, furiously stroking his spike. Several seconds later the flier overloads, transfluid spattering onto Sideswipe’s face and open, gasping mouth.

      The Seeker, Ion Storm maybe, lands down and slaps Sideswipe across the cheek, rocking his head to the side. Droplets of spunk roll down Sideswipe’s cheek and he dumbly stares up into Ion Storm’s face as he grins down at him.

      “Pretty little shareware,” he whispers, grabbing Sideswipe’s chin and tilting his head backwards. Ion Storm’s thumb roughly rubs Sideswipe’s lower lip and Sideswipe’s denta ache with the need to bite. “Bet you’re thirsty from all the work you’ve done. Don’t worry… rest of my trine will be by soon once they get off patrol. They’ll give you a little something else to drink down.”

      Ion Storm releases Sideswipe with a dismissive shove and stands up. His shadow falls over Sideswipe as he raises both his arms and wings wide, gesturing at the crowd. They roar in response, pushing against one another, fighting to get to the front to be next in line.

      Sideswipe closes his optics and rolls onto his side, one arm protectively curling around his abdomen. Pain is temporary, he reminds himself. He’s bigger and stronger than his fellows and even though the Decepticons have been throwing him some curve balls, it’ll be fine in the end.

      Pain is temporary.

 

~ End Chapter 4

 


	5. Hoist and a Time Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blood and injury, discussion of previous rape and abuse

                There’s a sudden reduction in noise and a moment later, something brushes his knee. He opens his optics, wondering who won the rights to frag him next and he sighs at the blinding mix of lime and purple.

                “One gestalt after another, huh?” Sideswipe croaks, the words slurred by drooling energon. Although to be fair, Blast Off and Swindle haven’t made an appearance. Sideswipe would be surprised if Swindle did; the merchant doesn’t like to burn any bridge completely, especially if it would get in the way of potential business. And the two of them still do a few deals every now and then.

                Hook shakes his head. “No. My fellows wouldn’t mind taking a go at you, but I called a pause. I think Ramjet broke something when he fisted you.”

                Sideswipe lets himself be rolled over onto his back and catches sight of the pool of energon he’s currently lying in. Definitely enough to mean significant damage.

                “Yeah? Ya think?” he asks sarcastically, gesturing weakly at his wet thighs.

                “I don’t think… I know,” Hook says, optics hazy as he scans Sideswipe’s abdomen. “He pushed through your gestational orifice and tore one of the fuel supply lines there. Hold still. I’m going to cauterize it.”

                “Cauterize…? Woah, hey…!”

                Surprisingly gentle, Hook worms his hand inside Sideswipe’s valve, fingers probing along the floor of the channel. It hurts like acid being poured inside of him, but Hook’s touch screams of a clinical approach. So Sideswipe lets his head fall back, focusing his gaze on the ceiling. If he blocks out the angry grumbles of ‘cons leaving the room, he can almost pretend Ratchet’s treating him.

                Soon the room is empty of everyone but him, Hook, their guards, and his fellow Autobots. They’re huddled together in the corner, presided over by Dirge and Thrust. The two of them contemplate Sideswipe with a hungry look in their optics and Sideswipe closes his own again, shutting them out.

                This is another quiet moment that he’s going to make use of, even if he’s still got something foreign shoved up inside of him.

                A few seconds later, his back bows off the floor as heat flares to life inside his belly. He shoves a wrist between his denta to muffle the resulting scream and ends up screaming louder because he had somehow forgotten the damage his mouth had just endured. He dimly hears panicked shouting off to the side and as someone drops to their knees beside him, the odor of scorched energon wafts up to his nasal sensors.

                “What did you do to him?” a voice Sideswipe blearily recognizes as Bluestreak’s demands.

                “Kept him from bleeding to death,” Hook replies, slowly pulling his hand free. As soon as he does, Sideswipe pushes up onto his elbows and slides backwards across the decking, trying to get some distance between Hook and himself. He glares, no longer feeling generous enough to compare the medic to Ratchet.

                “You set my internals on fire!” he accuses, drawing his knees up, practically to his chest.

                “Again… kept you from bleeding to death,” Hook says dismissively, wiping down his arm. “And I’m also enforcing a two hour rest period with fuel to give you some time to recover from everyone trying to frag you into pieces. So, you know … you’re welcome.”

                He looks up and gestures to someone over Bluestreak’s shoulders. Stomping pedesteps herald one of the coneheads’ arrival. Sideswipe soon discovers it’s Thrust as he shoulders Bluestreak aside and grips Sideswipe’s shoulders, hauling him upright as if he doesn’t weigh a thing.

                Sideswipe sways on his pedes, but Bluestreak immediately plasters himself to his side, shoring him up. A moment later, Hound ducks under Sideswipe’s other arm and his two comrades, bless their sparks, glare at Thrust until he backs off. Hands held up in surrender, he stalks off, waving them to follow him.

                “Primus… _Primus_ , you look _horrible_. You’re bleeding everywhere and Ravage has a knot and are you ok? You can’t be ok, there’s no way you could be ok…” Bluestreak babbles.

                “… well… I wasn’t anticipating the knot,” Sideswipe replies quietly. He lets his two bookends practically carry him, his feet tangling together frequently as they move down a short hallway to a tiny cell. They shuffle through the opening, Dirge shoving Cliffjumper in after them with a snicker. Then the door slams shut, bars humming to life with spitting energy as the two fliers retreat back down the hall to the main brig intake area.

                Hound and Bluestreak gently lower Sideswipe to the ground and Sideswipe leans back against the wall with a sigh, drawing his knees up. He musters a grin from somewhere, glancing up at the three of them and indicating the decking.

                “Thanks. Pull up a patch of floor,” he invites, doing his best to ignore their expressions. “Sounds like we got a bit of time to nap.”

                “Stop it… _stop it!”_ Bluestreak cries, crossing his arms over his bumper. He’s got tears in his optics and his sensory panels are fluttering nonstop. Obviously upset, which Sideswipe feels badly about, but it’s still a better result than the smaller mech being on the receiving end of Onslaught’ or Astrotrain’s spike. “How can you just…?”

                He abruptly drops down to the ground and carefully scoots up against Sideswipe’s side, shaking hard enough to rattle both of their plating. Sideswipe doesn’t have the spark to tell him how much that hurts.

                “It’s ok… it’s ok, Blue,” Sideswipe whispers into Bluestreak’s audial. He embraces the other mech, even though his arms feel like lead.

                “It’s really not,” Hound says tartly, kneeling down and gesturing at Cliffjumper. Surprisingly, the minibot is silent as he hands something over to Hound. Sideswipe experiences a bolt of fear that someone has hurt him while Sideswipe had been occupied. He doesn’t see any wounds, however.

                “Trading yourself for us was idiotic,” Hound continues, folding what looks to be some sort of cloth into a small square. “We could have shared that burden. They’re gonna rip you to pieces before we get traded back. Who knows when we’ll get home? What if it’s a week?”

                “It won’t be much longer,” Sideswipe says, closing his optics and leaning the back of his helm against the wall. “Sunny’s showed me Command is already in talks with the ‘cons, so they’re just working out the last little details. And this is better, trust me. I can handle it.”

                “Yeah, look like you’re handling it real well,” Cliffjumper mutters, his voice moving away.

                Sideswipe startles when something cool brushes against his cheek and his optics pop back open. He sees Hound holding the wet end of the cloth a few inches away from Sideswipe’s face; he can faintly smell cleanser wafting up from it.

                “Where’d you get that from?” Sideswipe asks, knowing they had all been well and truly searched when captured.

                Bluestreak snuffles into Sideswipe’s neck. “Cliffjumper bullied Breakdown for it.”

                “Attaboy, Cliffy,” Sideswipe says, giving the minibot a salute.

                “Oh, fuck off,” Cliffjumper says wearily over his shoulder as he stands guard at the bars, looking down the hallway. “Like Hound says; you’re an idiot.”

                “Ok, to be fair, no one ever told me Ravage has a barbed spike. I’ll admit… that hurt,” Sideswipe says with a shrug. “But otherwise, it’s mostly nothing I haven’t experienced before.”

                “Even getting fisted so hard it broke something inside you?” Bluestreak asks, horrified. He rears back and grabs the cloth from Hound, dabbing at Sideswipe’s face.

                Sideswipe’s gaze drops and he stares at Bluestreak’s shoulder. “Even that.”

                To be honest, that had been Sunstreaker. And it hadn’t tore a fuel line, only bent the gestational orifice’s spiral cover. But what happened to one of them essentially happened to both of them so it was pretty much the same thing.

                An uncomfortable silence descends, one which Sideswipe can’t really be bothered to try lifting like he normally would. Instead, he sits back and lets Bluestreak clean his face, because it seems to calm the other mech to do so.

                After a moment, Hound and Cliffjumper bend to fiddle with something else on the ground, Sideswipe watching idly. When Bluestreak finishes with Sideswipe’s face, Hound scoots closer, lifting up a half filled cube of what looks to be thin energon.

                “Naw. You guys take it,” Sideswipe says, turning his head to the side when Hound seems to want to bring it to Sideswipe’s mouth. “My levels are fine.”

                They’re not, not after having a fair bit of his body’s fluids drain out of his valve, but his frame is well used to running on low reserves. He and Sunstreaker have a multitude of illegal energy mods which always give Ratchet fits when he finds them in use.

                “They’re not,” Cliffjumper retorts in an echo of Sideswipe’s thoughts. He strides forward and snatches the cube out of Hound’s hand, standing threateningly over Sideswipe. “So you’re gonna drink this. If you refuse, I’m gonna pour it down your throat and don’t think I won’t!”

                Sideswipe stares at Cliffjumper’s determined face for a long moment before reaching up and gingerly taking the grimy cube from him. “I’ve honestly had enough shoved down my throat for several lifetimes, thank you,” he murmurs.

                Cliffjumper’s optics widen and he stumbles back a step. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean…!”

                “I know,” Sideswipe says reassuringly. “It’s ok, CJ; I know what you meant.”

                He sips the foul tasting ration and bemusedly watches Bluestreak scrubbing the plating on Sideswipe’s belly and thighs. It’s like the stains personally offend him and while Sideswipe knows there’ll just be more in a few more hours, he doesn’t stop him. 

                “Is there anything you need?” Hound asks, looking him over worriedly. “We don’t have much, but…”

                “I need you all to stop looking at me like I’m gonna break any second,” Sideswipe replies immediately. “It’s just a body. It’s just pain; I can be repaired.”

                Hound shakes his head, the mild-mannered mech looking angrier than Sideswipe has ever seen him. “Of course you’ll be repaired, but they’re _using_ you, like you’re some sort of _toy_. How can you be _emotionally_ ok with that?”

                “… because I’ve been used my whole life,” Sideswipe says gently. “I’ve lost count of how many times Sunny and I’ve been sold, how many times someone fragged us or otherwise used our bodies for entertainment. Even now, with the war… we’re just cannon fodder, when it’s all said and done. We’ve learned to accept that. The only thing that matters is each other and staying alive. And if experiencing something that’s been done to us countless times in the past helps someone else to survive… well, then… yay.”

                He throws back the rest of the energon with a grimace, while Hound, Cliffjumper, and Bluestreak stare at him.

                “You… just because you’ve suffered in the past, doesn’t make it ok that you suffer now,” Hound replies, sounding choked up.

                Sideswipe sighs, knowing they don’t get it. In a way, he’s glad that they don’t, though. “It’s just pain. _‘Pain is inevitable; suffering is a choice.’_ \- Buddha or somebody here on Earth said that. So I accepted that today is just another painful Tuesday, but I’m not suffering. I’ve never broken during something like this because I know what suffering _could_ be. That would be losing Sunny, and as he’s alive and well…”

                “Yeah, but…” Bluestreak protests, but Sideswipe holds up a hand, suddenly exhausted.

                “I _accepted_  this. Respect that and shut up so I can sleep,” Sideswipe says sharply, weariness stripping away any niceties. “That would be the best way to help me right now.”

                Bluestreak flinches, and Sideswipe immediately feels bad. So he grabs the cloth out of Bluestreak’s lax hand and shoves it into Hound’s. Then he pulls Bluestreak to him, holding him close.

                “I’m sorry I yelled at you. But I’ll be all right,” Sideswipe says quietly against Bluestreak’s audial. “I promise; it’s fine. Please, Blue… if you want to help me get through this, just give me a hug and let me sleep.”

                Lower lip quivering, Bluestreak mutely nods, his gaze remaining downcast. He shifts and snuggles deeper into Sideswipe’s embrace. Huffing a little, Hound resumes Bluestreak’s clean job while Cliffjumper gazes at Sideswipe with an unreadable expression.

                “I think it goes without saying that if you repeat that to anyone and Sunny catches slack for it, I’ll rip your arms off,” Sideswipe says to the minibot, utterly serious.

                Sideswipe would exchange his own frame to save the other warrior from death by rape, but frag if he wouldn’t beat the living spark out of Cliffjumper if anything he did resulted in trouble for Sunstreaker.

                Cliffjumper jerks upright, looking startled. “No! No… I wouldn’t,” he repeats softly. “… thanks.”

                Sideswipe shakes his head before resting it atop Bluestreak’s helm. He turns his attention to his lap. “… nothing to thank me for. Don’t give me a detailing down there, Hound dog,” Sideswipe says. “They’ll just take it as a challenge to mark me up again.”

                Hound continues for a while longer, until the worst of it is cleaned up. Then he tucks the dirty cloth in his subspace and curls up on Sideswipe’s other side. Cliffjumper lays down in front of Sideswipe’s pedes, back nudging up against his shinguards. Hemmed in by the three other mechs, Sideswipe lets himself relax slightly.

                …he hurts.

                He hurts a fragging lot, but like he told them… it’ll pass.

                Of course until then, he’s not going to be getting any true recharge. Instead, he soaks up the warmth of the neighboring bodies, letting it soothe stretched cables and achy struts. He floats for a while, not quite asleep and not quite awake. It’s a state he and Sunstreaker have used multiple times in the past to monitor for threats while resting.

                So he’s not startled by the intense stare he feels about an hour later. He opens his optics and isn’t even surprised to be looking directly into Vortex’s softly glowing visor. 

                The Combaticon smiles, his denta glistening in the dim brig light. “Hello, pretty. Have you had a good nap?”

                Sideswipe shrugs as well as he can without disrupting the mechs who are draped over him. And snoring, proving that _they_ at least are sleeping. “Not bad. Although it would be better if I didn’t have creepy ‘copters staring at me.”

                Vortex’s grin widens. “Oh, don’t worry, gorgeous. Soon I’ll be doing more than staring. I have _plans_ for you.”

                “Yeah? How’s that? I thought you already had your turn,” Sideswipe says. In their bond, Sunstreaker stirs at Sideswipe’s spike of alarm. He can’t help it… if there’s one mech here who he is honestly wary of, it’s this one. Vortex has the potential to not just mess with Sideswipe’s body, but also his processor.

                He can still feel the slimy sensation of him within Sideswipe’s systems, piggybacking on his pain.

                “Oh, I did. But I called in some favors,” Vortex purrs, sidling close up to the bars. The blue energy spits and crackles, painting his face in eerie shadows. “And we’re going to try something… just a little different.”

                “Can’t wait,” Sideswipe says flippantly. Internally however, he’s nowhere near as calm. Maybe it’ll all be a moot point anyway. While resting, Sunstreaker had showed him Optimus and Megatron communicating on Teletran, both of them nodding. Surely that meant that the Autobots were on their way to trade for them?

                And would the rest of the ‘cons really let Vortex have another go at him?

                “Mm… me either, pretty. Have a nice rest of your nap, now.”

                With a little waggle of his fingers, Vortex ambles off. Sideswipe stares at where he last stood, fretting about what Vortex has planned for him.

                “What do you think he’s going to do?”

                Sideswipe startles and looks down to see Cliffjumper staring back at him. Not all that surprising that he was awake for that conversation. Despite being supremely annoying in all sorts of ways, he’s still a frontliner.

                “Not sure. But I’m kinda hoping we’ll get traded before then,” Sideswipe admits.

 

~ End chapter 5


	6. Skywarp, Starscream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sticky, dub-con, oral sex, forced orgasm

      They don’t.

      Instead, exactly at the two hour mark, Dirge and Thrust return. They de-energize the cell door and pull it open, gesturing impatiently for Sideswipe to come out.  One by one, his fellow Autobots peel away from him, looking from Sideswipe to the ‘cons and back again.

      “Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there,” Sideswipe says wearily. He pushes himself to his feet and manages to stand on his own although Bluestreak hovers close by, hands at the ready.

      Two hours of rest is enough time for his nanites to start working on his injuries. The microscopic tears in his mouth and valve have completely healed and the larger ones have effectively scabbed over. They still angrily throb though, and it won’t take much to rip everything open again.

      But it’s better than nothing against the next round of rough fragging.

      “Get out here already,” Dirge commands. “All of ya.”

      “They’re still not allowed to be touched,” Sideswipe warns, halting just before the door. He really doesn’t like the way the two Coneheads are checking out the others.

      “Lord Megatron told us,” Thrust grumbles. His optics rake over Hound’s frame, practically fucking him with his optics. “Pity. Coulda had alotta fun. But don’t worry; we’ll make due with you, you dirty slut.”

      Thrust crowds up behind Sideswipe and then slaps his aft hard, laughing uproariously when Sideswipe stumbles into the main brig area.

      “Hey! Hands off!”

      Sideswipe turns his head and sees Motormaster pushing off from the wall by the monitors. As he approaches, Dirge and Thrust shrink back.

      “Sorry, Motormaster. He’s all yours,” Thrust says nervously. Sideswipe glances at him with a raised orbital ridge, but all the flier does is reach out and shove Sideswipe towards Motormaster.

      “’bout time, little bot. Mmm… you and I are gonna have a good time,” Motormaster rumbles, looking Sideswipe over with greedy approval. “I’ve been thinking about all the best ways to make you scream, shareware.”

      “Oh, that’s so awesome you’re capable of thought; good for you,” Sideswipe replies, because he can’t not. Humor is his defense mechanism and he’s going to need all the protection he can get. Motormaster and Onslaught are pretty much the same size and while Onslaught isn’t exactly kind, he’s a saint in comparison to the Stunticon leader. This is definitely going to leave Sideswipe bloody.

      Motormaster snarls and reaches out, Sideswipe stiffening in preparation for either a blow or a grab when a command floats through the air.

      “Motormaster, stop.”

      The silky voice arises from the hallway Megatron had disappeared down shortly after leaving Sideswipe to the mercy of his soldiers. Starscream flounces through the doorway, Skywarp just a step behind him. He strides into the center of the room and puts his hands on his hips, looking archly at Motormaster.

      “…he’s ours.”

      Motormaster stomps forward, looming over the shorter flier with clenched fists. Starscream doesn’t seem to be concerned in the slightest, although Sideswipe would be. Motormaster has a quick temper and rumor is that he’s tussled with Megatron a time or two and held his own.

      Of course, Starscream’s arrogance knows no bounds.

      “What the frag are you talking about?!” Motormaster demands.

      Sideswipe tunes out Starscream’s reply as Skywarp sidles up to him. He grins and bumps Sideswipe’s shoulder with his own.

      “Hi!”

      “… hi,” Sideswipe says cautiously. As much as any of them can be friends across faction divides, he and Skywarp are. It’s born from a similar sense of humor and a mutual respect. They’ll still shoot at each other, but neither of their sparks are really into it anymore. Even jet judo is more like a ride at an amusement park rather than a mid-air battle to the death.

      So color Sideswipe confused that Skywarp’s trine leader had just walked in and laid claim to him.

      “Don’t worry; we’re not gonna hurt you,” Skywarp says reassuringly. He throws his arms around Sideswipe and snuggles in. “I wanted to keep you safe in our quarters, but not even Starscream can go against practically the entire army. So I thought I could do something nice for you at least.”

      Skywarp draws back, looking down at Sideswipe so earnestly that Sideswipe’s spark twinges a little and he remembers why he’s always liked the goofy Seeker. He dares to raise his arms and pat the outside of Skywarp’s elbows.

      “Yeah? Are you taking requests? Me and my fellows wouldn’t mind some actual energon. And you know… to get out of here?” Sideswipe suggests with a wink.

      Skywarp ducks his head. “Awww… I can’t do that. But I can make ya feel good!”

      “Feel good… whampph!”

      Skywarp bends down and smashes his mouth against Sideswipe’s, causing his denta to clack together and a new bloom of pain spring to life in his oral cavity. Fortunately, Skywarp doesn’t hang on to him when Sideswipe jerks backwards.

      “What’s wrong?” Skywarp asks, looking confused. When Sideswipe gently rubs at his mouth, Skywarp winces.

      “Oh… right. I heard about Ravage. Did it hurt?”

      “Frag yes,” Sideswipe says bluntly. “10/10, do not recommend.”

      Skywarp looks downtrodden for a moment. Then he brightens. “That’s ok! There’s other stuff I can do! Come on, down here.”

      Following the tug of the energetic Seeker, Sideswipe ends up on the ground, sitting on his aft. When he looks to the side he sees Motormaster still arguing with Starscream.

      “Don’t worry, Star’ll handle it,” Skywarp says confidently, right before plopping himself down in Sideswipe’s lap.

      Sideswipe automatically takes hold of Skywarp’s waist, startled. “Skywarp, what…”

      He trails off when Skywarp leans forward and mouths at the side of Sideswipe’s neck. Sideswipe reflexively tightens his grip and Skywarp wiggles excitedly and starts nibbling on the large energon line there.

      “Making you feel good,” Skywarp murmurs. “Or would you rather Motormaster have this slot?”

      “Slot? Are there actual time slots?” Sideswipe returns, swallowing thickly. Skywarp’s mouth feels nice even if his weight in Sideswipe’s lap pulls at his sore abdomen. It doesn’t feel right to let Skywarp do this, but Sideswipe doesn’t want Motormaster to get his hands on him, either.

      “Kinda. More like a list. Star says all of you are supposed to be traded later this afternoon. So the more time I have with you, the less time someone else will have to hurt you. Plus… I like you. Kinda always wanted to touch you. You know… outside of battle,” Skywarp says quietly. “Like this.”

      Skywarp’s hands slowly stroke down Sideswipe’s arms, causing a little frission of static to crawl across Sideswipe’s plating.

      “’Warp… I like you too, but I’m not exactly consenting…” Sideswipe points out, because while he’s always had a thing for wings and friendly smiles, this is not how he would have wanted a dalliance to go. In his imagination, there’d be far more communication and a lot less spectators.

      “I mean… you _kinda_ are… and Starscream pointed out that we would never get this chance otherwise,” Skywarp says, working his way along Sideswipe’s jawline. As he gets closer to Sideswipe’s face, the already soft kisses become even lighter, more careful. Sideswipe closes his optics, uncomfortable, but not wanting to upset the other mech.

      “Skywarp, that’s not…”

      “Trust me, it’ll be ok. I won’t hurt you,” Skywarp promises, raising his head and smiling over Sideswipe’s shoulder. “Thanks, Star!”

      Sideswipe feels the air currents moving at his back just before the warmth of another frame settles there. Clawed hands land on his hips and dig in slightly, long legs bracketing his own.

      “You’re unbelievable,” Starscream grouses and every one of Sideswipe’s instincts are screaming at him as he’s pulled back against Starscream’s chest. “You owe me.”

      “Of course, Star,” Skywarp says demurely although as he ducks down and plants a kiss on Sideswipe’s hood, he conspiratorially winks an optic at him. Thundercracker and Starscream have always been protective over their younger trine member; Sideswipe bets Skywarp gets away with a lot because of it.

      “Wh-what’d you say to make Motormaster give up?” Sideswipe asks, curious despite how his armor is crawling under Starscream’s touch.

      Starscream bends down so that his mouth is level with Sideswipe’s audial. Out of the corner of an optic, he sees Starscream smirk. “I am the Second in Command. What I say, goes.”

      Sideswipe can’t help the snort he makes, flinching when Starscream retaliates by digging his claws into Sideswipe’s hips.

      “Careful…” Starscream warns lowly. “I’m still half a mind about this whole disgusting venture.”

      “But he’s so pretty…” Skywarp whines, licking his way down Sideswipe’s abdomen. “Isn’t he so pretty? You’ve always said…”

      “Quiet!” Starscream snaps, swatting at Skywarp’s helm. “Aren’t you supposed to be putting your mouth to use elsewhere?”

      Skywarp grins up at them both then nuzzles Sideswipe’s plating just above his pelvis. Sideswipe’s ventilations start to pick up, because he has a sneaking suspicion about where this is going. And he’s definitely not going to like it.

      “Is it Sunstreaker you favor?” Sideswipe asks shakily, face tilted towards Starscream’s. “He’s always turned more heads than me.”

      “He’s handsome. You both are… for Autobot grounders,” Starscream admits after a moment. “I’d still never do what Skywarp wants to though.”

      “Wha…?”

      Sideswipe’s head whips around and he stares at the top of Skywarp’s helm as the Seeker dips further down and licks across Sideswipe’s valve. It’s not as painful as Sideswipe would have guessed, especially as Skywarp focuses mainly on the pleats covering his anterior node.

      Skywarp makes a happy little humming sound and laps at the area, using his nasal ridge and chin to dip between the lips. He reverently slides his hands across Sideswipe’s thighs to the sides of his aft, gripping lightly while he plants kisses all over.

      “Oh, that’s so wrong,” Sideswipe says faintly, a shudder running through him. Skywarp seems happy… he probably still thinks Sideswipe’s completely consenting and enjoying the touches. Horrifyingly enough, one of those two are those are somewhat correct, much to Sideswipe’s dismay.

      “I agree,” Starscream murmurs, the words nearly completely obscured by the rushing in Sideswipe’s audials. Skywarp slides backwards so that he’s completely flat on the decking. Then he squirms around until he’s comfortable, his mouth never once leaving Sideswipe’s valve.

      “If you agree, then make him stop!” Sideswipe says shrilly, his hands reach down the length of his frame to push Skywarp away. Before they can make contact with Skywarp’s helm, Starscream grabs them. He transfers his grip to Sideswipe’s wrists, bringing his arms across his chest and essentially embracing him from behind. Sideswipe shudders again, the position reminding him of when Soundwave had held him.

      Oh, Primus, if Skywarp’s glossa is somehow modded…

      “While I would love to, I promised my idiotic trinemate he could have time with you,” Starscream mutters into Sideswipes’ audial.

      So Starscream will be no help then. Great.

      “’warp… Skywarp, come on, you don’t have to do this,” Sideswipe tries, jostling Skywarp’s shoulders with his knees.

      Skywarp looks up and Sideswipe’s sickened to see the Seeker’s chin shiny with lubricant. It’s all from Skywarp’s mouth, but if Sideswipe concentrates he can feel the tiniest bit of moisture in the back of his valve, an automatic response to the working of his main node. It’s a confusing dichotomy; the majority of his valve is still painful, but his nub is perking up with interest under the skillful lash of Skywarp’s glossa.

      “I want to,” Skywarp chirps and dives back down. His lips fasten over Sideswipe’s node and suck, strongly enough that Sideswipe’s head flies back at the surge of sensation. He stares blindly up at the ceiling and shivers when pleasure coalesces in a small ball within his lower abdomen.

      “… oh no… nononono,” Sideswipe whispers softly to himself. His fingers flex into fists, digit tips digging into the softer plating of his own palms.

      “Skywarp… ’warp, c’mon… _I_ don’t want to!” Sideswipe raises his voice in protest, ducking his chin and peering down the length of his frame. Skywarp either doesn’t care or can’t hear him. It certainly could be the latter; a crowd has gathered again and Skywarp is getting a lot of verbal encouragement. In the far corner, Motormaster is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and staring at their little tableau with burning optics.

      Sideswipe shivers harder, reminded again that he could be bleeding and broken in Motormaster’s hands right now. If he can be spared pain, then great, but he doesn’t want this pleasure either, no matter that it comes from good intentions. And even though Skywarp’s spark is in the right place, he obviously still doesn’t really understand the concept of consent.

      As high as Sideswipe’s tolerance for pain is, his body is also hardwired for pleasure. He’s a big fan of interfacing and stimulation is stimulation. Sideswipe knows this. He _knows_ this, yet as Skywarp works him closer to climax, the pleasure is accompanied by a deep, burning shame.

      He’s not supposed to feel good… not supposed to enjoy a Decepticon’s touch. It’s bad enough that the rest of the ‘con army is in the room watching him squirm on Skywarp’s glossa… but his comrades are here too. They’re seeing how his hips jerk and his ventilations pick up speed despite the fact that he’s fighting the pleasure with everything he’s got.

      Energon drips down his face again because he’s practically bit through his lower lip while gnawing on it. It aches, but it’s not enough to override the impending overload. He’s no stranger to rough interfacing so a little bit of pain mixed with the pleasure isn’t going to prevent him from getting off on this.

      “… ‘warp… thank you, really, but you can stop now!” he manages to squeak out, hoping that maybe if he acknowledges that Skywarp’s making Sideswipe feel good, he’ll cease and desist.

No such luck.

      If anything, Skywarp glossa sweeps across Sideswipe’s node faster, his lips suctioning harder. By now, the Decepticons have caught on to the fact that Skywarp isn’t just taking, but is rather giving. The catcalls’ main subject turn to Sideswipe and how much he’s begging for it. Some of the loudest are Dirge and Thrust and when one of them shouts out something particularly loudly, his attention is automatically drawn to them.

      He immediately turns his helm in the opposite direction, sickened by the look of confusion on Bluestreak’s face and disgust on Cliffjumper’s. Hound’s expression had mostly been blank, although there had been a hint of pity in his gaze and Sideswipe just can’t stand to look at any of them. Witnessing Sideswipe be abused is one thing; watching him overload beneath the enemy’s touch is quite another.

      “If you stop fighting it, it’ll be over faster,” a voice whispers into his audial. Sideswipe shudders at the warm ex-vent and does his best to bury his face into Starscream’s shoulder. He’s going alternatively hot and cold with shame, knowing Starscream can feel his frame shake and buck despite his best efforts.

      He’s right, but Sideswipe’s stubborn and he doesn’t want to give in. He can’t. It’ll be the acknowledgement of his own body’s betrayal.

      One of Skywarp’s finger flirts at Sideswipe’s valve entrance and he can’t help the quiet strangled moan that slips out. His pedes scrape at Skywarp’s sides as the gentle touch is repeated and his spark twists again, twirling from the overwhelming mix of guilt, anger, and shame that do nothing to mute the heat rapidly building in his groin.

      “Please… please, ‘warp… please, _stop_ …” Sideswipe begs for the first time in the past day. “Ah, Primus… fuck… fuck, _please_ …”

      Apparently Skywarp hears ‘don’t stop’ because he presses his face more firmly against Sideswipe’s valve and does this little twisty thing with his glossa that has Sideswipe seeing stars. A moment later, that finger breeches him and the burst of pain/pleasure tips him over the edge. His hips jerk upwards and Skywarp grips him firmly, riding out the twitches of his lower half.

      Sideswipe manages to hold his moans back, producing only a single strangled grunt as the tension releases. It’s the smallest of victories, easily eclipsed by the disgust he feels towards his own frame.

      …maybe he really _is_ a filthy slut if he can overload so easily after multiple rapes.

      Skywarp withdraws slightly, rubbing his face against Sideswipe’s folds. He purrs, a sound that is extremely satisfied. Sideswipe’s optics open despite himself, because did Skywarp really enjoy that? But Skywarp’s expression is content, his lips curved up slightly in a pleased smile. He darts forward, placing a kiss just above Sideswipe’s pelvis and then leverages himself up onto his hands and knees.

      “Good?” Skywarp asks, bending down to affectionately nuzzle Sideswipe’s cheek. Then he leans up and kisses Starscream, the slick sound of their mouths sounding overly loud in Sideswipe’s audials.

      Sideswipe notes that Starscream doesn’t pull back or tell Skywarp to wipe his mouth, so all those protests earlier had to have been at least slightly exaggerated. Not that Sideswipe cares one way or another. The Seekers are pretty and Sideswipe has a wingkink a mile wide, but he’d never cross faction lines for one of them.

      Especially not now.

      “… thank you for not hurting me…” Sideswipe finally says when Skywarp breaks away and peers down at Sideswipe. It seems the most diplomatic thing he can say and he grips Skywarp’s shoulder and gives it a small squeeze.

      “You’re welcome!” Skywarp says cheerfully. He pushes himself upright as the same time that Starscream practically shoves Sideswipe away from him.

      Sideswipe’s so shaken that he can’t even manage to get his elbows beneath him to catch himself and he collapses to the decking, strutless. Skywarp takes a concerned step towards him, but Starscream bodily intercepts. He gestures towards one of the hallways and Skywarp frowns for a moment before reluctantly turning and walking away. Starscream watches for a second before crouching down at Sideswipe’s side.

      “You remember this, the next time we see you on the battlefield,” Starscream says softly. He trails a single, sharp claw down Sideswipe’s cheek. Sideswipe doesn’t flinch, but he does glare at Starscream. “Remember how this could have gone instead.”

      “Oh, yeah, I’ll remember all the times I said ‘no’ and ‘stop’,” Sideswipe spits. He has no doubt that Starscream engineered this whole thing, taking advantage of Skywarp’s honest interest and twisting it.

      Starscream waves a hand through the air. “Irrelevant. Someone was going to have you; it might as well have been Skywarp. Better ‘warp than Motormaster, for sure. He likes to watch you bleed… believe me, I know.”

      A dark look flits across Starscream’s face, but Sideswipe is too spark-sick to deal with anyone else’s backstory. Instead he just shuts his optics.

      “Don’t deny it; doing something nice for Skywarp was the least of your motivations. You just like messing with other people’s heads,” Sideswipe murmurs, shaking his own.

      Starscream snorts and then slaps Sideswipe across the face hard enough to make Sideswipe’s audials ring. He jerks away and scowls at Starscream, but he doesn’t seem to care that Sideswipe is attempting to set him on fire with a look alone.

      “I do, you impertinent brat. But if you think _I’m_ bad…” Starscream murmurs. He smirks at Sideswipe and then gets to his pedes, stepping to the side to reveal Vortex standing just behind him.

      “Have fun!” Starscream says to the Combaticon with a little wave of his fingers. He stalks off and Sideswipe is tempted to call him back, because even Starscream is better than Vortex.

 

~ end chapter 6


	7. Vortex, the Constructicons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sticky, spark sex, forced merge, orgy, forced orgasm, sadism

                “I can’t believe you were serious. You had your turn,” Sideswipe says flatly as Vortex approaches. The rotary smiles as he straddles Sideswipe’s abdomen and then slowly lowers himself until he’s seated atop Sideswipe’s upper thighs. He doesn’t seem to mind the dampness there.

                “Technically…” Vortex says, holding up one finger, “… I piggybacked on Onslaught’s turn. So… doesn’t count.”

                “I think Motormaster would disagree with you,” Sideswipe says, his gaze flicking over Vortex’s shoulder to see the mech in question glowering at Vortex’s back. Vortex turns at the waist and blows Motormaster a kiss, giggling when Motormaster stomps out of the room, apparently giving up.

                “Would you really rather that behemoth than silly old me?” Vortex simpers as he turns back around. He lays hands on Sideswipe’s chest, slowly stroking down from his collar fairing to his pelvis and then back up. Sideswipe has to fight not to thrash out from under the touch. “He’d rip you apart. Starscream wasn’t lying about that.”

                “And you won’t?” Sideswipe asks, proud that his voice is steady. Vortex has always unnerved him in ways that Megatron and Starscream never could. He understands physical brutality, especially in the realm of revenge. But Vortex doles out pain because he can and because he likes to. That’s something Sideswipe doesn’t get.

                “Upon Primus’ name… I will not make you bleed,” Vortex says solemnly and holds up a hand as if he’s about to testify in a court of law.

                Sideswipe considers him warily. “… there’s a lot you can do that won’t make me bleed.”

                “Clever boy,” Vortex purrs, leaning forward until his chest rests against Sideswipe’s hood. “Then I’ll get straight to one of them… let me see your spark, darling.”

                Sideswipe’s vents stutter to a stop and he stares up at Vortex with wide optics. Every bit of him has gone ramrod straight, a reaction Vortex is sure to have noticed. “Wh-what? Why would you want to see my spark?”

                “Because I’m going to merge with you,” Vortex says matter-of-factly. “I never have before, you know. I’ve long been considering it as a means of interrogation but rules of conduct regarding prisoners and all that. There are some things even our high and mighty leader won’t condone.”

                Vortex sighs heavily as if Megatron is the biggest bore ever. Sideswipe starts almost desperately searching the crowd for that distinctive bucket helm because if Megatron doesn’t allow…

                “Oh… tsk… Lord Megatron is busy,” Vortex tuts, grabbing hold of Sideswipe’s chin. He turns Sideswipe’s head to each side, examining him critically. “And you’re just a grunt. No one cares if I break you, and I _do_ want to break you. I love challenges like you. All you’ve done is bend, probably in ways you’ve never thought you would before….”

                Vortex strokes a hand down the side of Sideswipe’s face, claws scraping across the still tingling plating that Starscream had slapped. He looks fond and adoring, and Sideswipe’s spark shrinks in on itself.

                 “… but you haven’t broken. I’ve been watching every moment… I’ve seen how Ravage and the triplechangers tested your limits, and I have a better idea now of what makes you tick,” Vortex continues. Sideswipe feels a heat wash over his chest and when he looks down, he sees Vortex’s thoracic armor splitting aside. He shakes his head in denial, an unbidden whine rising up out of his throat.

                 “They could beat you and frag every single orifice you have and you’d just _endure_ … but I don’t think you’ll be able to endure this. Will you?”

                 “I…” Sideswipe’s processor is spinning madly, trying to find a way out of this. Technically spark-merging _is_ a method of interfacing and that had been part of his original deal with Megatron. It had just never occurred to Sideswipe that someone would bring it up. Sparks were sacred; even the Decepticons had to believe that.

                “I’d rather not find out,” Sideswipe says as he digs his fingers into the decking. Across the distance, Sunstreaker feels his panic and starts poking at the walls Sideswipe’s erected between them.

                “No?” Vortex questions. He tilts his head to the side as his hands continue down Sideswipe’s neck. A single finger traces along Sideswipe’s central chest seam, the claw tip digging in between the two plates covering his spark. Sideswipe winces as the sharp tip worms between the two, managing to slip under the left plate. Vortex tugs sharply, creating just enough space for another finger to join the first.

                “Are you sure that’s your answer? I could force you, you know,” Vortex comments, pulling hard enough that his rotors rustle with the strain. It would be incredibly difficult for the smaller mech to fully rip apart Sideswipe’s thick frontliner armor by hand alone. Of course, there are probably some in the crowd who would volunteer to help.

                Sideswipe swallows, his mouth dry. “I know you could.”

                “Hmmm…” Vortex places his other hand on the opposite piece of plating to steady it. Then he gives a quick yank to the other plate, managing to bend it upwards by a centimeter or so. Sideswipe doesn’t even think; he reacts instinctively, grabbing hold of Vortex’s wrists and twisting in warning.

                “Ah ah ah…” Vortex tuts, although he slips his fingers out from beneath Sideswipe’s armor. They stare at each other for a long moment, trapped in a moment of immovable object set against unopposable force.

                Vortex finally sits back, letting his arms go limp in Sideswipe’s grip. “Well, that’s a pity. I was looking forward to merging with a mech who has done it before, as I assume you do so routinely with your twin. But I guess I could make due with one of your friends…” he says carelessly, looking over his shoulder.

                Sideswipe digs his fingers in, halting Vortex’s backward motion. He stares at the Decepticon logo glaring back at him, weighing his limited options. If he breaks his deal now, the other three would be up for grabs, no matter that they’ll be traded back soon. Not only would Sideswipe have that on his conscience, but everything he had gone through up to this point would have been in vain. And yet…

                And yet.

                Sideswipe’s mouth works silently for a moment before he can speak.

                “Don’t… don’t touch them,” he grinds out past the fear. “I’ll do it.”

                Vortex smiles in triumph, relaxing in his seat atop Sideswipe. “I thought that might say that. All right then… open.”

                Sideswipe rolls his optics as Vortex’s grin turns wicked. Figures the ‘copter had caught on to Sideswipe’s steadily growing hatred of the word.

                As Sideswipe watches, Vortex’s secondary armor slides aside, baring his crystal. It too transforms out of the way, Vortex not exhibiting a single ounce of shame as his core is exposed to everyone in the room. Surprisingly, it looks normal. A lighter blue than Sideswipe’s, and of course larger, but otherwise flickering and spinning just like his.

                Considering how twisted Vortex was, Sideswipe had half been expecting to see it black and shriveled.

                Regardless of how normal Vortex’s spark looks, Sideswipe’s having a difficult time baring his own. He’s managed to unlock the catches to his primary armor, but that’s where he’s stalled out at. Various medics have seen his spark, but he’s only ever merged with Sunstreaker. Sparks are mechs’ very being. They contain their baseline personalities, their emotions, their thoughts… everything that is essentially… _them._

                Excepting Sunstreaker, Sideswipe’s never liked anyone enough to ever want to be so intimately connected to them. And the thought of touching Vortex’s spark is abhorrent. Sideswipe doesn’t want to know what is lurking deep down inside Vortex. The visible layers are more than enough.

                “Come now… don’t be shy…” Vortex croons, stroking down Sideswipe’s shuddering central seam. “Let me see.”

                “I hope you rust to death,” Sideswipe mutters.

                Not his greatest comeback ever, but it’s all he can manage against the tide of fear welling up inside him. He glances over at the other Autobots. Cliffjumper and Hound look confused but Bluestreak has a horrified expression on his face as he stares at Vortex’s open chest. Bluestreak is close enough to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to understand at least a little how much Sideswipe doesn’t want to do this.

                But Vortex is right about one thing. Sideswipe knows spark merges whereas he seriously doubts the other three do. So once again, he’s the best suited for this.

                He closes his optics and forces his outer plating to slip aside, the armor moving in tiny jerks. As Vortex hums appreciatively, Sideswipe concentrates on his bond. He allows his walls to fall, preparing for the surge of his twin.

                Sunstreaker and he tangle together for a blissful second before Sideswipe resolutely pushes his brother back.

                _The strongest block you can make,_ Sideswipe says, enforcing the distance-distorted words with images and a desperate sense of urgency. Sunstreaker is confused and upset by the request, obviously reluctant. Sideswipe repeats the message, sending it as strongly as he can. Then he does it one last time, this time accompanied by a plea.

                If Sideswipe has to do this, he vows his twin won’t feel even an echo of it.

                “… lovely…”

                Sideswipe abruptly withdraws from the bond, slamming down block after block, as thick as he can make them. It physically hurts to separate himself so thoroughly from Sunstreaker, and it’s not something they’ve ever done more than twice before. That and the plea should hopefully be enough for Sunstreaker to realize how important Sideswipe’s ask is.

                “Get down here,” Sideswipe says roughly, yanking on Vortex’s shoulders. A breeze caresses Sideswipe’s bared crystal and he has never felt so exposed before. Only a thin layer exists between the two of them and through it, Sideswipe can feel the heat emanating from Vortex’s chest. “I’m not putting on a show for the whole ‘con army.”

                “I do believe you already have, darling,” Vortex says with a smirk. Nevertheless, he descends all the way down, resting his weight atop Sideswipe’s frame. Their plating scrapes against one another and Sideswipe shudders as that heat moves closer. It flicks against Sideswipe’s crystal again and again, as if inviting the spark hiding behind it to come out and play.

                “This is different,” Sideswipe murmurs, his gaze losing focus as he tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling. He’s ventilating far too quickly as he fights with himself, almost to the state of panic. It takes every ounce of his willpower to slow his vents and crack his crystal. As he does, a tiny whimper pushes its way past his lips as foreign core energy brushes over his spark.

                “Quite,” Vortex says faintly. “More.”

                Biting his lip, Sideswipe reluctantly obliges the demand. His crystal slowly slips the rest of the way aside, the frame above him beginning to shiver. Sideswipe’s shivering too, but for a completely different reason. It’s weird to feel a spark other than Sunstreaker’s so close to his. Then their outer edges tangle together, and Sideswipe gets the first wisp of Vortex’s emotions.

                He’s unreasonably excited, pulsing an almost predatory anticipation that makes Sideswipe flinch. His spark is equally hesitant, flicking out the occasional tendril as if feeling the figurative waters between them.

                “Fascinating,” Vortex murmurs, squirming atop Sideswipe. “What an odd sensation.”

                “You’re telling me,” Sideswipe returns, his processor at war with his spark. It’s used to merging and despite Sideswipe’s misgivings, it finally proceeds to deepen the connection on its own, almost out of habit.

                Their outer layers mesh more completely, their central cores coming closer together. As the merge slowly progresses, Sideswipe whines, a pitiful sound to his own audials. Vortex’s spark is even more detestable than having his systems plugged into Sideswipe’s. His core presence is like a sticky, viscous oil coating Sideswipe’s spark, bringing with it perversion and an insidious wrongness.

                Sideswipe’s spark slows its natural spin, his tanks roiling as the sensation spreads deeper and deeper into him. His entire being fills with disgust and despair, and Vortex chokes out a faint laugh.

                “You _hate_ this,” he says, delight shooting through the merge. “You loathe the feel of me… how _delicious_ …”

                He presses closer and Sideswipe digs his fingers into the decking on either side of his hips. “I loathe the _sight_ of you, so yeah, I’m gonna hate your spark, you glitch.”

                “Mmm… so good,” Vortex moans. Sideswipe distantly feels the grind of Vortex’s pelvis against his own and he has to swallow rapidly. He’s never purged while his spark was exposed, and he’d rather not start now.

                “This is _wonderful_ ,” Vortex continues, voice turning dreamy. Sideswipe can feel just how much Vortex is enjoying Sideswipe’s discomfort as their sparks push closer together. Vortex’s is doing the majority of the work, Sideswipe’s now catching on to the fact that this is Wrong. But past a certain point, a merge will solidify despite the participants’ desire otherwise.

                Vortex revels in Sideswipe’s revulsion, rolling in the hatred and soaking it all in. He doesn’t understand how a merge is supposed to work; he just takes and takes, and Sideswipe guesses he’s grateful for that, although he’s very careful to hide that thought deep away.

                As Vortex starts to pant above him, hips moving into a steady roll, Sideswipe has another thought. Vortex gets off on others’ misery. What does he do with the opposite?

                “Want more?” Sideswipe asks in a shaky voice.

                “Yessss… give me everything,” Vortex hisses. His hands come up to cradle the side of Sideswipe’s face in a parody of intimacy. Sideswipe stops himself from turning his head and biting a hand with only the tiniest sliver of restraint and Vortex laughs again.

                “Everything, huh? You know… you’re right,” Sideswipe remarks, staring up into Vortex’s dimmed visor with a rising fury. “I _have_ merged a lot. So I know _exactly_ how this is supposed to work. You want everything? Then take it.”

                Sideswipe pulses his spark, hard. Vortex gasps, his body stiffening as pleasure unfurls inside his chest. From experience, Sideswipe knows it’s a pleasure unlike that derived from an interface array, oftentimes stronger and more pervasive. He can feel the resulting surprise and greed that immediately follows. Vortex’s spark clumsily shifts and flutters in an attempt to return the offering, Sideswipe shuddering as a weak beat flows over him.

                Gritting his denta, Sideswipe repeats the original pulse, only this time, he recalls previous merges. Merges where he has happily drowned in Sunstreaker’s presence, their half sparks twirling together in love and contentment. He takes those memories and spitefully throws them at Vortex.

                The ‘con flinches, mouth dropping open. “Wh… wha?”

                Sideswipe quickly sets up a rhythm – pulse, a push of memories, pulse, a push of memories… over and over again and as rapid as a machine gun. Vortex catches on quickly, snarling angrily and attempting to pull away. Sideswipe latches on to his shoulders, fingertips digging into the other mech’s seams.

                “You can’t…” Sideswipe pants. “You break off now and you’ll be knocked out from the backlash for days.”

                A fact he can attest to as it had happened to them when they were younger and then again not soon after joining up with the Autobots. It may be just a thing between twins, but Vortex didn’t have to know that. For all Sideswipe knew, an abrupt parting between the two of them could kill them both.

                Vortex groans as the pleasure starts rising. His spark is helplessly responding, sending back its own weak beats in response to Sideswipe’s much stronger ones.

Sideswipe can’t ignore those fumbling pulses. His spark is like his array; hard wired over time to accept a certain stimulation, regardless if that input is tainted with disease and darkness. There’s a very good chance he’ll overload. Vortex definitely will, but hopefully it will be while he’s drowning in an influx of second-hand love and happiness.

                “You… fragging glitch!” Vortex spits before bending his head and sinking sharpened denta into Sideswipe’s shoulder. His reluctant moan echoes through Sideswipe’s chest and Sideswipe grins grimly up at the ceiling. Their sparks are well and truly meshed now; nothing as deep as he and Sunstreaker could go, but still far enough that Sideswipe has to fight to block out the surface images and memories streaming from Vortex’s spark.

                There is far too much energon and sadistic pleasure within them for Sideswipe’s peace of mind.

                They’re trapped together, Sideswipe’s experience giving him the upper edge. He ruthlessly drives Vortex towards overload, their thoracic cavities heating from the rapid pulses. Sideswipe fortunately has a lifetime supply of happy memories to draw off and he both attacks Vortex with them and uses them to buoy himself.

                It’ll be all he has for a long while, he knows. Even if Sunstreaker ever wanted to merge with Sideswipe again, he wouldn’t allow it. There’s no way he would expose the evil that will taint his spark after this to his beloved twin.

                Vortex cries out something, the sound garbled against Sideswipe’s plating. He pants and thrusts against Sideswipe’s frame faster and faster until he finally comes with a shout. Vortex’s body stiffens as his spark expands in a single white-hot burst, the sensation almost enough to tip Sideswipe over.

                Almost.

                He holds back with a grim determination, even though it leaves his spark feeling swollen and incomplete. Sideswipe can tolerate that however, knowing that Vortex is awash in the equivalent of rainbows and frolicking turbokittens.

                Vortex slumps the last of the overload leaves him. It takes a few seconds, but his spark automatically starts to detach and withdraw, Sideswipe relishing every micrometer of increasing distance. When the last tendril slips away, Sideswipe’s crystal slams shut and he shoves Vortex’s frame off him. Vortex hits the floor with a grunt, and Sideswipe scrambles away, plating coming back together with an angry screech.

                He ends up on his hands and knees several feet away, his spark feeling like it’s about to explode from the built up charge. Sideswipe reflexively presses a fist against the plating covering it, trying to ease the pressure.

                “Have fun enduring _that_ , you fucking freak,” Sideswipe growls, body shaking with the aftereffects. His armor doesn’t lie as flat as it should, no matter how much he tries to shove it into the proper position. The ruined overload doesn’t help either, making him feel weak and clumsy. He’s watching Vortex in case the ‘copter tries anything, but Vortex looks dazed, his rotor blades slowly fanning in and out.

                Sideswipe’s so focused on the threat in front of him that he doesn’t hear the approach of pedes behind him. Large hands wrap partly around his waist and he nearly leaps out of his plating in surprise. When he straightens up and looks over his shoulder, all he can see is a wall of purple and lime green surrounding him.

                “Hook says you got some rest,” Scrapper announces, slipping around to Sideswipe’s front while Mixmaster starts petting Sideswipe’s aft. Scrapper’s fingers wrap around his exposed spike and start stroking it suggestively. “So you good to take us?”

                It’s… oddly considerate of him to ask. And utterly perplexing as well. 

Just beyond Scrapper’s hip, Sideswipe sees Vortex shakily push himself to his knees and then stand, facing them. No one helps him up. In fact, the rest of the ‘cons all give him a wide berth, many of them looking at him in disgust.

                At least Sideswipe’s not the only one. Although none of them were disgusted enough to stop him either.

                Vortex’s visor is bright, a small frown twisting his lips. He considers Sideswipe, who is practically eclipsed by a very enthusiastic gestalt. After a moment, Vortex’s frown turns to a wry smirk and he salutes Sideswipe.

                It might be respect. Sideswipe doesn’t care. Even though he ‘won’, he’s still the loser. He’ll never be able to forget the sensation of Vortex threaded throughout his soul. It’ll haunt him forever.

                Sideswipe doesn’t want to think about it anymore, his processor about at its limits. So he turns his attention back to Scrapper and nods, knees automatically spreading to find more stability.

                He lets the Constructicons use him as they want. They pass Sideswipe around, spike to valve to mouth in a dizzying blur of colors. Yet still they are probably the easiest out of them all. Yeah, there’s five of them (Hook is conspicuously absent. Maybe he doesn’t frag his patients, Sideswipe doesn’t know), but they’re not outlandishly modded or sadistic. They don’t try to take him two at a time, except for one in his valve while another uses his mouth. And there’s no mind games.

                Sideswipe loses himself in it, anchors himself to the pain in his body, because it helps him forget about his spark and how it feels like a foreign object in his chest. He’s well on his way to complete dissociation when all of a sudden the wall of heat that had been surrounding him moves away.

 

~ end chapter 7

 


	8. The Witnesses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aftermath of rape, recovery, survivor's guilt, hurt/comfort

                Devoid of support, Sideswipe collapses onto one hip, leaning his weight on his palm. He stares blankly at the floor, waiting for the next throbbing spike to force its way somewhere into his body. So it comes as a bit of a surprise when a gentle hand lands on his shoulder and another tucks under his chin, pulling his head up.

                “Sides?”

                Sideswipe blinks a few times before Bluestreak’s concerned expression comes into focus. Then his presences registers and Sideswipe panics a little because Bluestreak shouldn’t be here. He’s supposed to be in the corner with the others…

                …oh. They’re all here. Cliffjumper stands to the left of Bluestreak, and Hound’s on the other side of him. It’s Hound’s hand on Sideswipe shoulder, moving in a slow, soothing circle. Sideswipe blearily looks past them and notes a lot of dejected looking Decepticons leaving the room. Starscream stands in the doorway leading to the entrance of the Nemesis; his arms are crossed over his chest, his wings flicking irritably every few seconds.

                “What’s going on?” Sideswipe asks. His voice is rough around the edges and he clears his intake, jostling some of the transfluid coating the entrance to his throat.

                “We’re being exchanged,” Cliffjumper informs. “Rest of the Autobots are here.”

                Ah. So that’s why the Decepticons look so glum. Sideswipe nods and creakily rolls up onto his knees. When he pushes himself to his feet, he finds he’s more stable than he thought he would be. It probably helps that no one after the break had really pushed his physical limits.

                “Awesome. Then let’s get out of here,” Sideswipe announces. “I could sleep for a week. You guys ok?”

                Cliffjumper gives him an incredulous look before snorting and walking off towards Starscream, who is apparently the one escorting them out. Bluestreak reaches out and takes one of Sideswipe’s hands, bringing it to his chest to cuddle it.

                “We’re fine,” he says softly, looking like he’s about to cry. Sideswipe’s not exactly sure why. They’re getting out of here, after all. He glances over at Hound for direction, but he just looks downtrodden.

                “Are _you_ ok?” Hound asks, gaze flitting down to Sideswipe’s chest and back. Sideswipe reflexively presses his free hand against the plating over his spark.

                “Been better,” Sideswipe replies honestly. “But a snuggle with Sunny will fix that right up.”

                Bluestreak makes a wounded sound in the back of his throat and pushes forward. He crowds against Sideswipe’s side, burrowing close. Sideswipe automatically slides his arm over Bluestreak’s shoulder, pressing a kiss against the side of his helm. He realizes too late that his mouth is smeared with Constructicon spunk, and he hurriedly scrubs the spot on Bluestreak’s head away with his thumb.

                “Ugh,” Sideswipe says, staring at the fluid-smeared digit. “Shower first, though. C’mon guys, let’s go home.”

 

                --

 

                Sideswipe’s frame is burning. Touching him actually makes Bluestreak’s hands sting, but he doesn’t care. He’s been friends with the twins long enough to know that Sideswipe’s smiles and flippancy often hide deeper, darker emotions. It was hard enough to believe Sideswipe’s reassurances earlier. After witnessing Vortex forcing his spark onto Sideswipe’s, Bluestreak can see right through the flimsy mask Sideswipe dons.

                But it’s not the time or place to press the issue. Bluestreak tugs Sideswipe in the right direction and he and Hound fall in on either side of Sideswipe, acting as guards. Cliffjumper leads them out, head turning this way and that as if looking for threats. They pass by a few Decepticons, some of them ignoring the Autobots in the midst, others whistling at Sideswipe or calling out lewd suggestions.

                Sideswipe doesn’t seem to notice. His optics had been hazy when they had urged him to standing, as if he wasn’t quite all there. Bluestreak can understand that and thinks that might be for the best right now.

                They emerge from the Nemesis and slosh through ankle high seawater until they reach the beach. Megatron and Optimus await them there, standing a good distance away from one another. Optimus looks serene although his optics become pinched as he watches them approach.

                “Here they are,” Starscream announces, coming to a stop next to Megatron. He waves a careless hand at the four of them huddled together. “As you can see, no one’s come to harm. So, the coordinates if you please.”

                “No harm?” Jazz ghosts out from behind a stand of trees several feet away and points at Sideswipe. “What do you call that?”

                Sideswipe stirs and straightens a little. “Volunteering. Can we go now?”

                He sounds weary and plaintive, and Jazz gives him a longer, second look before nodding at Optimus. With a flick of his fingers, Jazz tosses a tiny data stick to Starscream. The Seeker snatches it out of the air and immediately inserts it into a wrist port. His optics dim and a moment later, two fliers rocket out of the Nemesis’ tallest converted tower and shoot away.

                “Pleasure doing business with you,” Starscream purrs, offering Optimus a sloppy salute. He turns and pauses when he lays optics on the four of them. He smirks at Sideswipe, his fingers waving in a flirty manner. “You as well, Sideswipe. Remember what I said.”

                Sideswipe snorts and shakes his head, looking away from Starscream and towards the copse of trees Jazz had been hidden in. “I’ll remember.”

                Bluestreak watches Sideswipe’s jaw tense, like he wants to say something else, but he just shakes his head again. The whole thing with Skywarp and Starscream had been incredibly awkward and painful to watch. After Skywarp had overloaded Sideswipe, Starscream and he had had words, but the conversation had been too quiet for Bluestreak to hear. Nevertheless, Sideswipe had looked upset during it, so Bluestreak figures the talk probably hadn’t been a nice one.

                Megatron stirs from his imposing stance and turns to follow his Second. As he comes even with their group of four, Sideswipe turns his head back.

                “Megatron… thank you,” he says, inclining his helm in a nod.

                Megatron pauses and considers them one by one in turn, gaze raking over them dismissively until he reaches Sideswipe. Then he gives Sideswipe a slight nod in return, a hint of something like respect surfacing in his expression before it smooths away into a haughty blankness.

                The Decepticon commander walks away, each footfall precise. He pauses again though when Sideswipe raises his voice and calls out over his shoulder.

                “And Megatron… you might want to take a look at the video footage… see what methods your interrogator uses when you’re not watching.”

                Out of the corner of his optic, Bluestreak catches Megatron looking back at them, startled. Then he scowls, his engine making a rumbling sound that causes Bluestreak to quake. “I will do that,” Megatron promises and when he moves again, it’s at a faster walk.

                They stand there and watch until the hatch closes behind Megatron. Only then does Bluestreak relax, and it’s still only marginally.

                “I’m with Sideswipe,” Cliffjumper suddenly says, startling Bluestreak. “Can we go now? I’d like to find some bleach to wash my optics out with.”

                Sideswipe laughs, an honestly amused sound which surprises Bluestreak. But then he remembers for all that Sideswipe often wears a mask of smiles, he’s also prone to finding the humor in any situation.

                “Right with you, my friend,” Sideswipe replies, grinning up at Optimus. “So yeah… we gonna get this show on the road?”

                --

                It’s actually into the air. The drive a short distance to a local airstrip where Skyfire is patiently waiting. Ironhide is pacing back and forth by his ramp, his tense shoulders loosening when he spies the six of them driving up.

                “’bout time,” he grumbles as they roll up one by one into Skyfire’s cargo hold. “Everyone good?” he demands as he follows them in and hits the release for the hatch.

                “Just peachy,” Sideswipe replies as he transforms back into root mode. Hound watches him carefully because there had been a horrible sound of gears stripping against one another when Sideswipe had first transformed. He only catches Sideswipe’s brief grimace of pain as he stands because Hound’s watching; it’s gone within a second, another smile on his face as he waves at Ironhide.

                Ironhide looks taken back for a moment at Sideswipe’s fluid spattered frame. Then his optics soften and his lips turn down into an unhappy frown. “You don’t look peachy,” Ironhide says softly.

                “Tis nothing but a flesh wound!” Sideswipe says flippantly. He plops down onto the decking where he stands, stretching his legs out in front of him. When he leans back against the wall, he looks ever so nonchalant. Hound would believe it if he hadn’t watched his fellow soldier be repeatedly raped in front of him for the past day.

                **Let me guess: he traded himself for the three of you?** Jazz asks over a private line. Hound glances over at his commanding officer and gives a slight nod.

                **They made us watch,** Hound adds, guilt once more flooding through him. **Jazz, he’s… he’s covering it up, but they really hurt him.**

                Hound stares beseechingly at Jazz. War isn’t easy on anyone, but SpecOps mechs often experience some of the worst tortures at the hands of the enemy. As a far range scout, Hound is on the fringes of the division, but he knows Jazz has handled many subordinates who have returned from similar horrific experiences. Hound hopes that Jazz will be able to do the same here as well.

                “You know Sunstreaker’s gonna throw a fit as soon as he sees you, right?” Jazz asks, squatting down next to Sideswipe and producing a cleanser dampened cloth as if it were magic.

                “Him and Ratch both, probably. Oooh, thanks!” Sideswipe says, taking the cloth with a nod. He starts attacking the plating covering his thighs, and Jazz watches for a moment. Then he takes out another cloth and sits it by Sideswipe, moving slowly. Hound’s fingers immediately itch to pick it up and he catches the aborted movement Bluestreak makes next to him. But the shake of Jazz’s head as he stands keeps them in their place.

                **Not the time. Not the place,** Jazz says softly. Across Skyfire’s hold, Hound sees Optimus solemnly nod and Ironhide huff before turning away. Jazz had sent it to all of them, probably noting how everyone who was not Skyfire had been hovering, even Cliffjumper. **Not even the right people, I think.**

                Hound thinks back to what Sideswipe had said about suffering, about the things he and Sunstreaker had gone through prior to this. The twins are a close knit entity. If anyone is going to help Sideswipe deal with this, it will be his brother. Or maybe Ratchet, who has developed an almost familial relationship with the twins over the years.

                Not a Prime, not a commanding officer, not people whom he doesn’t really know… or people he knows well enough to hide things from.

                Hound sighs and moves to sit also, tugging Bluestreak down next to him. It only takes a second and then Bluestreak is practically in his lap, staring mournfully at Sideswipe. Sighing, Hound lets the back of his helm rest against the cargo hold wall and gently squeezes Bluestreak’s shoulder.

                Sideswipe won’t accept assistance from Hound, but he can at least be there for Bluestreak.

 

\--

                There’s a streak of transfluid on Sideswipe’s temple that makes Cliffjumper burn with both fury and helplessness. He wants to leap across the cargo hold, snatch the cloth out of Sideswipe’s hand and scrub at the mark until it disappears.

                If someone did that to Cliffjumper however, he knows he wouldn’t appreciate it. He’d probably draw a gun on them, actually. And even though none of them have their weapons, Sideswipe is a weapon in and out of himself.

                So Cliffjumper holds himself back, unable to look away from Sideswipe slowly wiping up the evidence of what has been done to him.

                He hates everything he’s learned about Sideswipe today. Cliffjumper has never wanted to pity the loud, brash warrior. He’s never wanted to see Sideswipe dripping energon from wounds sustained from a too large or weirdly modded spike. Has never wanted to know the twins’ history of repeated abuse that makes Sideswipe so flippant about exchanging his body for theirs.

                In Cliffjumper’s optics, this leaves a debt between them. Not just for him, but also for Hound and Bluestreak. The two of them may not see it that way, but Cliffjumper is a warrior. Even if he never really liked the twins, he had always respected them as fellow frontliners. And Cliffjumper recognizes honor and sacrifice when he sees it.

                He just doesn’t have the slightest idea how to even begin repaying this debt. What can he ever do to make it up to Sideswipe, to make up for the fear and despair he had spied on Sideswipe’s face when Vortex had gleefully forced his spark on him?

 

~End Chapter 8

 


	9. Sunstreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angst, hurt/comfort, grief, emotional breakdown

                Sunstreaker’s a little surprised no one’s marched him to the brig yet.

                He knows he’s been aggressively getting in everyone’s face about retrieving his brother. He’s pushed a lot of people’s limits and he’s grateful that Ironhide knows them as well as he does and had shrugged off the punch like it was nothing. If Sunstreaker had done that to anyone else, he’d be in the brig for the rest of the war.

                It probably helps that Bluestreak is Prowl’s adopted creation. It earns him a great deal of leniency from Prowl because although the Second hadn’t throwing punches, he had been restlessly pacing the command deck as if at any moment he was going to break away and march right into the Nemesis to personally demand Bluestreak and the others back. If he had, Sunstreaker would have been alongside him, likely invited there by Prowl himself.

                The word is that the exchange went off without a hitch and they’re ten minutes out from landing. Prowl’s twitchiness has subsided somewhat at the news, but Sunstreaker’s has only ratcheted higher. Sideswipe’s still blocking him and Sunstreaker has kept his own walls up because he hasn’t heard from Sideswipe to do otherwise.

                That frightens him. They’ll block pain from each other, because they do what they can to spare one another that. But this is different. Sideswipe had been panicked… _terrified_ … what had been bad enough that Sideswipe had felt the need for Sunstreaker to put up blocks as well?  It was like Sideswipe had been afraid his walls would fail and Sunstreaker would be exposed to something.

                Sunstreaker knows Sideswipe is alive and sustained mild injuries; that’s the official word from Optimus to Prowl. But Sunstreaker knows deep within his spark that his brother is likely coming back to him damaged in ways that isn’t visible to others.

                “Can you feel him?” Ratchet asks, startling Sunstreaker out of his thoughts.

                Sunstreaker blinks at the medic who is leaning against the counter, fingers gripping the edge. If Sunstreaker didn’t know better, he’d think Ratchet was calm. But he can see the way Ratchet’s fingers flex and worry the table’s edge, the way his fans speed up and then calm down when Ratchet catches himself.

                “No. I mean, yes, I can feel him moving closer, but that’s it,” Sunstreaker says, waving a hand through the air. Even blocked like this, they’d be able to follow some intangible sense in order to find each other no matter the distance between them.

                “… Jazz told me a while back that the ‘cons have gotten much crueler with their prisoners lately,” Ratchet says quietly, fretfully.

                “Desperation can make people mean,” Sunstreaker replies. “But we know mean. This was something else… not much spooks Sideswipe anymore.”

                Sunstreaker had been in the MedBay, hovering around Ratchet as if he were a comfort item when Sideswipe’s demand had come. He had been shaken enough to not even hesitate to tell Ratchet what Sideswipe had wanted him to do.

                “Well… he has the both of us. And a whole lot of other people who care for him,” Ratchet says comfortingly. Sunstreaker glances at him sidelong and wonders who he’s trying to reassure.

                A few minutes later Sunstreaker turns towards the door and unwaveringly stares at it. Across the room, he sees Prowl take his cue from Sunstreaker and go completely still, watching the door as well.

                It opens after another minute, Sunstreaker tensing only to let out an irritable huff when Optimus passes through. He holds the door open and Cliffjumper walks in, followed by Hound and Bluestreak. Hound has an arm wrapped around Bluestreak’s shoulders, but Sunstreaker doesn’t see any immediate injuries on their friend. Besides, Bluestreak breaks away from Hound and dives into Prowl’s arms once they see each other. 

                With the knowledge that Bluestreak is being cared for, Sunstreaker returns his attention to the door because Sideswipe passes through it next. His optics unerringly find Sunstreaker’s, brightening at the sight of him.

                Even though their bond is still closed, Sunstreaker feels a huge jolt of relief go through him just to witness Sideswipe walking in on his own two feet. That relief propels him forward, hurriedly sidestepping Hound and reaching for his twin.

                “Sunny… Sunny, no, I’m filthy,” Sideswipe protests as Sunstreaker tries to embrace him, only to be held at arm’s length.

                “I don’t give a flying fuck, get over here,” Sunstreaker snaps. He twists out of Sideswipe’s hold and pulls him in so roughly that their armor clangs together when they meet. For a long moment, Sideswipe is frighteningly still against him. Then he makes a soft noise and sags forward. Sunstreaker easily takes Sideswipe’s weight as he leans in.

                “… you ok?” Sunstreaker asks after a minute goes by. Sideswipe stirs and when he pulls back, Sunstreaker lets him, although he keeps a hand wrapped around Sideswipe’s forearm. He has a sneaking suspicion that he won’t be leaving Sideswipe’s vicinity for a long while, too paranoid that they’ll immediately be separated again.

                “Yeah, I’m fine,” Sideswipe says, his smile far too tremulous for Sunstreaker’s liking. But at least he’s still smiling. “Got roughed up a bit and I now know the size and length of an uncomfortable number of Decepticons’ spikes… but I’m ok.” 

                “You’re ok when _I_ decide you’re ok,” Ratchet announces, bustling forward and shoving his way between them. “Get up on the exam table, slagger. Primus only knows what damage you’ve taken this time.”

                Sideswipe laughs at Ratchet’s familiar bluster and allows himself be towed towards the berth. He hops up on it without protest, spreading his arms wide.

                “Have at me, Ratch; there’s not a lot you can treat, though. Most of everything is already being worked on by self-repair. Hey, Sunny, while he looks me over, can you grab me a cube? I’m starving.”

                Confident that Sideswipe is in Ratchet’s capable hands and feeling a need to provide for his twin in any way that he can, Sunstreaker moves to the nearby energon dispenser. He keeps an audial out, listening to Ratchet’s grumbles about the state of Sideswipe’s frame.

                He has a cube halfway filled when something catches his attention.

                “… even your chestplates! They’re uneven, did a combiner sit on you? Open up so I can…”

                It’s not Ratchet’s words so much as the wave of sheer _panicfeardenialdisgust_ that floods their bond, even over two sets of blocks. Sunstreaker’s halfway back across the room before the cube even hits the floor.

                “Ratchet, no!” Sunstreaker shouts because the wave has turned into a tsunami of terror. And neither one of them react well when they’re truly frightened by something.

                It’s too late. Ratchet hits the floor with a resounding clash, mouth bleeding. The entire room erupts into a cacophony of sound. Ironhide and Jazz race in from the side, going directly to Ratchet. Sunstreaker ignores them, still on a collision course with his twin. If they’re both standing, it’s an unspoken directive that they handle each other in times of stress. Or otherwise things like punches which break nasal ridges happen.

                Sideswipe’s plastered up against the wall, hand digging into the armor over his spark. His optics are wide, nearly white with a combination of stress and abruptly onlined battle programs. His gaze is focused on Ratchet and he doesn’t look up when Sunstreaker slides to a halt in front of him.

                “Sides… Sideswipe…”

                Sunstreaker carefully reaches out and takes hold of Sideswipe’s shoulder, cautiously watching the entire time for any sign that he might lash out. It happened sometimes, even with each other. But Sideswipe doesn’t. He just tears his optics away from Ratchet and stares at Sunstreaker, cooling fans whistling at a speed Sunstreaker didn’t even know they could hit.

                “Sides... what…?”

                The terror is subsiding, leaving behind a wasteland of shame and disgust that has Sunstreaker’s tanks roiling. Despite that, he can feel Sideswipe’s blocks wavering and he lightly presses against them. He doesn’t want to force it, but Sideswipe needs to know Sunstreaker is there, ready to catch him if he falls.

                “I… I didn’t… slag… oh _slag,_ did I hurt him?” Sideswipe whispers, denta clacking together as he shivers. “I didn’t mean… I couldn’t help it… Ratchet?”

                “…I’m fine! Sideswipe, I’m fine… I can get up on my own, thank you very much, ‘Hide!”

                Sunstreaker hears the irritated words from far away. A small part of him is relieved Ratchet is ok, but the majority of his processor is focused on his obviously distraught brother.

                 “What did they do to you?” Sunstreaker demands, shaking Sideswipe’s shoulder a little. They’ve been physically abused many times before and yeah, it hurts, but they’ve learned to deal with it over the millennia. Sideswipe barely even reacted to it the last time it happened, and certainly not like this. Sunstreaker’s mind races with the possibilities of what had happened to his twin.

                “I… he…” Sideswipe shakes his head, panting through clenched denta. “… _had to_ … he was gonna… he was going to do it _them_ … and I know… I know how… but he’s there now… Sunny, he’s there now and he won’t go away. He’ll never go away!”

                Sideswipe’s voice rises into a shrill cry and he’s trembling so hard Sunstreaker worries his brother is going to fall apart into multiple separate pieces right in front of him.

                “Sideswipe, I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Sunstreaker says helplessly. Sideswipe’s babbling and none of it makes sense and Sunstreaker’s anxiety is exponentially rising with the need to _fix_ this.

                “I’m sorry… _I’m sorry_ , I had to… please don’t hate me…” Sideswipe pleads, and his optics are so earnest and desperate as his free hand scrambles at Sunstreaker’s chest.

                “Sides, I could never hate you, but I don’t understand…”

                “He was forced into a spark merge.”

                Sunstreaker looks off to the side and down, seeing Cliffjumper standing a respectable distance away. He looks uncomfortable, arms crossed defensively over his chest. But he holds Sunstreaker’s burning gaze.

                The words register a moment later and it feels like his entire body just shuts down. They’ve had their sparks experimented upon before. Once when they were still younglings, and briefly again when one of Shockwave’s evil little protégés had stumbled across them. But they had never been forced into a spark merge before.

                “… _who?”_ Sunstreaker grinds out.

                “Vortex. Evil fragger,” Cliffjumper says with feeling. “And before he did that, he plugged into Sides and got off on Onslaught raping him.”

                Sideswipe whimpers and Sunstreaker immediately turns around to his brother, seeing Sideswipe’s helm tilted back and his optics closed. Tears are spilling down his cheeks, highlighting a smear of silvery transfluid at his temple that Sunstreaker had missed earlier.

                “… I’m sorry… sorry…” Sideswipe keeps saying, his head slowly rolling back and forth. “… he’s still _there_ and I can’t get him _out_ of me…”

                Sunstreaker presses against Sideswipe’s front, cradling his face in his palms. He gently traces Sideswipe’s cheek with his thumbs before resting his forehelm against his twin’s.

                “ _I’ll_ get him out. We’ll merge and I’ll burn out every bit of him,” Sunstreaker whispers fiercely. “And then I’ll find him and rip him apart so he’ll never touch you again.”

                “… you need any help, I’ll lend a hand,” Cliffjumper mutters.

                “No… no… he’ll always _be_ there…” Sideswipe mutters feverishly. “… he ruined me and I ruined _us_ …”

                “Hey… hey… Sideswipe, look at me,” Sunstreaker commands, lightly jarring Sideswipe’s helm against the wall. It’s enough to startle Sideswipe’s optics into opening and they stare at one another for a moment before Sunstreaker continues.

                “We’ve been broken before. And every time we just take the pieces and put them back together again,” Sunstreaker says calmly, even though he feels anything but. “With a little glue and some duct tape…”

                “There’s not enough glue in the world…” Sideswipe whispers before his expression crumples and he starts to sob. Sunstreaker sways from disorientation as Sideswipe’s blocks finally topple over completely and their bond fills with grief and self-loathing. Sunstreaker wraps his arms around Sideswipe, holding on to him for stability as much as he provides it for Sideswipe.

                “… wrong… I was wrong…!” Sideswipe cries piteously. “… I can’t not choose this…”

                Sunstreaker has no idea what he’s talking about. But feeling Sideswipe break in a way he never has before… Sunstreaker wonders if this _is_ something that can ever be fixed.

 

~End

 


End file.
